Order with a Circumfix
by logicallychaotic
Summary: Sequel to Order with a Prefix. Will and Emma embark on married life while realizing that sometimes, the hardest things in life, both good and bad, are the most resilient. Mentions of Eating disorders. Please be careful.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I was really not intending to start this just yet but I was inspired. A huge thank you to those of you who are staying with me for part two and if you are someone who just stumbled across this, if you haven't read part one, _Order with a Prefix, _you will be quite confused.

I will try and keep my updates timely but once school starts up I have some pretty homework-heavy classes as well as a new job staring in August.

_Circumfix- _In morphology, circumfix is the combination of a prefix and a suffix that attach to a base simultaneously to express a single meaning.

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><p><strong>Part Two<strong>

**Chapter One**

Change had never really garnered the chance to be something Emma openly welcomed into her life. Instead it seemed to take some sort of sweet satisfaction in creeping through the little crevices too porous to be unforgivably airtight.

Change inevitably brought uncertainty and uncertainty only served to coddle further into existence the nagging, persistent worry that all bets regarding stability were off the instant something changed, and more than that, strong enough to cause hesitation at even the slightest of divergences such as an envelope with an address she didn't recognize or a phone number that came across as unavailable, was the foreboding, overwhelming, often paralyzing sensation that at some point, somewhere, someone was going to waltz into her life in some unexpected format and expose her as the expert illusionist she had become, where her culminating act was always to convince the world, and worse, herself, that she knew exactly what she was doing, and in doing so bring to light every insecurity she had ever entertained. She could fool everyone, everyone except that mental construct that ricocheted around in her mind, that one day, someone would confirm her worst fear; that she was doing everything wrong.

Avoiding change, staying sparingly in the tracks of the familiar, in her mind, significantly lessened the chance that this fear she had never been able to name, would shine a spotlight on all her mistakes and cast her successes to the shadows. All of this, the constant anxiety that she had fueled for so long is what made the changes that had taken place in her life recently so revolutionary and terrifying, and wonderful.

She had now officially been a married woman for six months. Committed to a man who had never once thought of giving up on her. Her apartment had been discarded; upgraded to a quaint townhouse within walking distance of the school and perhaps the least noticeable to the people who had only now entered her life, was that for five of those six months she had successfully maintained a healthy weight and bottles of Strawberry Ensure now seemed a far and faded memory that belonged to some past life that she was content to let haunt a former self she no longer cared to know as intimately as she once had.

Change had swept in and crept away with small pieces of what had once been the most important thing only to replace it with the foundation for shared experiences and firsts that she couldn't imagine being without.

It had taken a while, for her muscles to remember that the name she had penned for so many years no longer ended in 'Pillsbury' but 'Schuester' and that experience, the first time she had signed her name, her new identity, her new life, was like the piece of chocolate she allowed to melt in her mouth every evening before bed; indulgent, thrilling, and hers.

Change had done what she had always known it was capable of. It had redefined her life but instead of watching that life fade away she had watched it gently take shape, mold itself into the future that seemed to beckon her closer every day. The one she and Will were working on, together.

The old-fashioned buzzer sliced through the aroma-heavy air around her, bringing her back into the present and reminding her with its dull, jarring tone that the first batch of oatmeal cookies were done.

These cookies were something Emma hadn't ever attempted to make in her adult life. She had stolen the recipe from her mother once, sneaking behind her back as a little girl, shoving with all her might so that she could climb atop the worn kitchen chair and rifle through the recipe box that now resided on the counter just to her left. She hadn't been able to read the cursive hand-writing but she had recognized the stains on the index card, having mimicked her mother as the woman had pursed her lips and re-read the ingredients she thought should have been memorized.

Her mother had of course discovered the family tradition missing and Emma had reluctantly pulled it from the box beneath her bed, explaining through tears that she had been trying to read it for weeks. That was how she came into possession of another index card, one that was written in her mother's out of practice blocky print, with capital letters where lower-cased ones should have been and vice versa. All of this was of course, before her mother had stopped cooking, a small designated section of her life she wished occupied more of the time that seemed destined to slip away, unnoticed until it was countable in years.

The card looked new, out of place amongst the older, colored-with-time recipes. That was what had made Emma decide to bake them today, for the first time. This was a first on many levels. This was the first time she was baking these cookies, the first time she would willingly eat one since the night she had dug them out of the trash after they had been delivered in a snow storm by a dedicated UPS worker, the first time she had ever attempted to make anything on her own in their new house.

Often, when they cooked, they did so together but Emma had never gone out of her way to start making a meal on her own. She always waited for Will as if taking the initiative to do something that had for so long been a sign of weakness would somehow topple everything she had accomplished.

She stared at the cookies inside the oven before dawning the mitt that had been her grandmother's, the one that had rested unused for months on end in her apartment, often called upon for a coaster for a cup of tea on an empty stomach rather than what it was actually intended for, and slowly pulled them out.

The smell instantly took her back to that night and she cursed olfaction and its prerogative to be the strongest sense tied to memory as she carefully set the tray down atop the table to let the cookies cool.

Small things about the way she interacted with food had changed without her really being conscious of it. The cookies, warm and golden, their sweet aroma filling the cozy kitchen of light pastels did not put her on edge as they once would have and she did not feel the desire to either throw them away or tear into them, content to return to dropping the batter that had remained in the mixing bowl onto a lightly greased pan.

She heard the door open before she heard his customary greeting followed by the sound of a few sturdy pats to the flank of the retriever that always knew when Will was about to walk in. In the past she would have been nervous about his finding her cooking but this evening she was excited, anxious in the most foreign, wonderful way for him to see her doing this, being normal.

Soon he had come up behind her, his stocking feet silent on the faux wood floor, his hands resting first on her waist before sliding up her forearms, pausing to work at the knots that had formed at her shoulders. She could feel his wedding band through the material of her shirt and she smiled for reasons she wasn't altogether sure of, perhaps because she was making something that had scared her for so long, perhaps because his fingers felt like magic, perhaps because instead of saying hello he kissed the back of her neck.

"Can I have one?" He whispered, against her ear, far more seductively than the moment called for and Emma shivered as goose bumps lingered where his breath had been.

"They are still hot." She countered, leaning back so that he was supporting more of her weight than she was.

A hand danced across her abdomen and she laughed at the sensation, bending over slightly at the waist in an attempt to protect her body from another onslaught of tickling.

"I don't want one of those." He clarified with a chuckle as she watched the fingers that had just brushed her skin close around an over-sized table spoon of cookie dough.

Seeing him so freely take the treat she had so often devoured in her childhood filled her with a longing that was so intense she didn't think she would be able to ignore it. And what's more, she realized with a determined movement that matched the one he had just executed, she didn't want to ignore it.

He didn't say anything about her grabbing her own piece of cookie dough, contentedly finishing off the mound in one bite before reaching for another. Emma only laughed again, finding his affinity for sweet food endearing and allowed the transgression to pass, after all the cookies were for them.

Returning her attention to her own morsel of food Emma closed her eyes as she took a bite, flooded with relief that it didn't taste sick like oatmeal did anymore. It tasted good. Better than good, it tasted like freedom.

Will assisted with the rest of the cookies, most of them ending up in his mouth before ever making it to the pan but she didn't mind as they both swayed along to the music softly playing across the radio.

"I'll be right back." He commented and disappeared almost faster than her mind could register. She did, however, register the mixing bowl that had suddenly gone missing.

"Will!" She called out, his name diluted by the smile that refused to leave her face as she stepped into the living room, dim in the evening light, her purple fuzzy socks sinking comfortably into the pale blue carpet.

For a moment she stood completely still, her head down to minimize visual input that might interfere with any sounds he might accidently make but it was the dog, or more accurately the tags on the dogs' collar that gave him away. She could tell by the distinctive clanking that Moritz had just jumped up on the bed, something he wasn't allowed to do unless given permission. Mystery solved.

With a sly grin Emma tip-toed down the long hallway Will had fallen in love with from the moment they had looked at the house. He had been a veritable ball of excitement saying that hallways such as that were perfect for practicing recall exercises and retrieves. Out of all the houses they had considered this was the only one that had a hallway and she would never tell him but it had been a deciding factor for her, aside from that she loved the color palette, light and cheery with well-positioned windows that let in just the right amount of light to read in the mornings over a cup of tea or coffee.

Twisting her body sideways she slipped through the door, determined to not touch the wood because the creak Will had yet to fix would give her away, as if the dog that now stood at the edge of the bed with his tail wagging, eyes expectantly trained on her as his face broke out into a trade-mark Moritz grin wasn't doing that already.

Will was leaning against the headboard, the mixing bowl sitting in his lap, spoon raised to his open mouth but she could tell he had simply been sitting that way until she had walked in.

"Hey!" Emma crossed the medium-sized room as quickly as she could, crawling onto the king-sized bed and over to Will, only stopping when her face was inches from his.

"Problems?" He questioned, feigning innocence as he smirked and finished off a bite of cookie dough.

Emma sat back, a plan forming in her mind and she laughed to herself as she slowly began to remove her shirt, sliding her hands across her stomach as she did so. As she had anticipated Will paused with another bite almost to his mouth, his eyes boring into her, studying her, admiring her as she pulled the shirt over her shoulders.

Leaning forward she planted a few kisses along his jaw line, biding her time until his grip on the bowl relaxed and his other hand came to rest softly on the small of her back. Grinning against his chin Emma snatched the bowl and clamored off of him, running out the door and down the hall before he could even register what had happened.

"That wasn't fair." His arms snaked around her torso, pulling her against him as he kissed the top of her shoulder while she unsuccessfully attempted to place cookie dough balls on the pan.

Emma only smirked to herself, struggling to break free of his grip, her strength sapped by the laughter that she seemed to be so full of tonight.

"Go sit down." She attempted to command, surprised when he sighed and obeyed, pulling up a chair at the same table that had been in her apartment.

Mutual agreement on both their parts had ended up with them choosing her wooden table over his garage sale special that now resided in their garage, serving as a work bench of sorts, an interesting juxtaposition considering Will's talents, or lack thereof, in that area.

"I could get used to this." Will's voice trickled into her ear from across the room and she turned to find him appraising her appreciatively with a grin. That's when she realized she had neglected to put a shirt on when she had darted out of the bedroom and as it was, was baking cookies in blue jeans and a robin egg blue, lacey bra with her hair, that she had slowly been growing out and wearing down more often than not, hanging just past her shoulders.

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><p><strong>Will's POV<strong>

Will only stuck his tongue out in response to Emma's eye roll, a childish gesture he couldn't help but partake in as he marveled not so much at the fact that Emma was cooking sans shirt but that she had started the entire process without him.

He hadn't realized at the time just how run-down the disorder had left her as she had flitted along from day to day spurred on by her body's attempt at driving her to find food. Now as he had watched her run from the bedroom after stealing back the mixing bowl he found himself once again contemplating the changes in her he never would have expected.

She was still energetic but it was a different energy, less frenzied and chaotic and more youthful, vibrant and infectious. Her smiles were genuine, not drudged up from some dreary place and her eyes seemed to shine.

Over time she had become more involved in some of the after school programs, occasionally helping out with Glee club rehearsals if he needed a dancing partner for a demonstration. That was how he had learned of the trip to Godfather's the night before their first date, when her mother had spontaneously showed up and Emma had waived off the woman's fears about her weight by saying she had been dancing with him in rehearsals. Sometimes that got him to wondering just how many little white lies she had told in the interest of keeping her secret, and how many he had been involved in, and more so, how many he might not know about. He realized it didn't matter, not really, but it was still one of those things he thought about now and again. Emma was such a trusting person by nature. If anyone needed evidence of how an eating disorder could turn someone into a constructor of elaborate lies and manipulations they needed to look no further than her.

A couple months ago she had spoke with Figgins about starting an eating disorder support group at McKinley. At first the older man had balked saying that no one would join even if it was available but after Sue had stepped in, backing Emma up and offering to help run the group, he had given in.

It was held the same time as Glee and to be fair to his own students he had as nonchalantly as possible mentioned that if anyone felt like they wanted to attend one of the meetings, even if it was just to see what it was about or to support a friend, they were more than welcome to miss rehearsal if they talked to him first to let him know why they were gone. He felt a little bad, asking them to give a reason and disclose something that was by its nature, very secretive but he was hedging a bet that if they were willing to go to the group they would be able to speak with him especially because all of his kids knew about what he had gone through with Emma and that he would understand. Even the couple new members had to have some idea he was sure, it was a small school after all.

They had been hard words to say, as he had sat there staring at them, trying not to interpret their reactions as he fervently hoped none of them would or were going through what Emma had. No one had objected, not even Rachel but at the next rehearsal everyone was there, filling him with a sense of relief he hadn't experienced in a long time. In the back of his mind he wondered if someone wouldn't be afraid to go, afraid the other members would know why they weren't there but there was only so much he could do, and he had offered, shown support. Emma and Sue had taught him how important that was.

That first meeting he had ended rehearsal a few minutes early, mindlessly shuffling music until everyone left, creeping down the hall to see how Emma's group was going. When he had peeked through the small window he was glad the only person facing him had been Emma. Her eyes had flickered in his direction but her face gave nothing away as she continued speaking. He couldn't hear what she was saying but at that moment he hadn't wanted to, content to simply observe. Sitting in front of Emma, all listening with rapt attention were eleven students, some incoming freshman he had glimpsed in the halls, and one boy that had staked out a corner desk in his Spanish classroom away from the others, rarely interacting with those around him except to repeat verbs and pass along papers. Will had felt his heart leap into his throat when he had caught sight of the young man, sitting there in the back row appearing as though he wanted nothing more than to fold in on himself yet hanging on his wife's every word.

As he had stepped out the double doors and made his way across the parking lot towards the sidewalk he had allowed the slightly chilled air to carry him back to the day he had walked Emma through the halls with his messenger bag covering her leg, when he had wondered if anyone else was going through what she was and decided it was probably inevitable someone wasn't. When he had silently begged for whomever it was to just confide in someone and felt sick for their families and what they might eventually have to endure at the mercy of such an unforgiving illness. The outsider's perspective that the sufferer could never truly comprehend, the pointed angle to a side of things they would never see until they were unfortunate enough to witness it for themselves. The slow self-destruction of the person they loved as they, powerless to truly intervene, stood by.

He didn't know what any of them had or didn't have, whether they were caught in the clutches of a full blown-disorder or the relentless spiral of disordered eating. A couple had looked pretty skinny but experience had taught him that was a poor indicator. The amount of people he had glimpsed crammed into that small room had been astonishing, sobering, sad, and so tragically real.

When Emma had suggested the idea one night as they had watched a re-run of Glee he had been supportive but had secretly, naively, he now realized, wondered just how many would show up. After one meeting she had a cluster of young people roughly the size of his show choir. He had thought about them the whole way home, about what they were going through, what they might go through and he distinctly remembered asking no one in particular as he had trudged home to please let Emma get through to them, or some, or even just one, someone.

The smell of the cookies grew in intensity, invading his senses strong enough that it drew him out of this thoughts and he looked up with a smile as Emma delicately set one on the plate in front of him.

"Do you want some milk?" He asked quickly, halfway to the fridge by the time the question was completed. He stood at the door, leaning against it slightly, balancing the gallon carton on his index finger, waiting patiently, unassumingly, for her answer.

Dairy products had slowly transitioned from absolutely unacceptable to tolerable and finally slid into the realm of things she would have in moderation. She never went crazy but occasionally she would have a glass of milk when he did. Milk and cookies were a childhood tradition to him and it didn't seem right, his mother would have told him, to not offer if he was getting some for himself.

There was only a moment's hesitation and no real distress that he could discern crossed her features before she nodded with a lopsided grin he was certain she had picked up from him. Grabbing a couple glasses, he poured unequal amounts on purpose knowing she wouldn't want much and promptly took a bite of his cookie.

"These are amazing Em." He commented around a mouthful of cookie before taking a swig of milk.

And they were amazing, because of everything they represented.

These were the cookies that had shown him the depth of the eating disorder at the start of their relationship, the childhood tradition she had shared with her mother, and it was the first thing she had chosen to bake on her own.

Emma blushed, her eyes darting down to her lap as she needlessly straightened her pants and he noticed that somewhere while he had been lost in thought she must have snagged one of his shirts from somewhere. It looked adorable on her, an old shirt from his college days that hung loosely around her body but not in a way that bespoke of her being too thin. It fit her in the way he had grown to love; the way a man's shirt fits a woman. The way his shirt fit her, the way their lives seemed to meld effortlessly together.

There had been small things, adjustments that both of them had been obligated to make or learn to tolerate in the other. Small issues that had been overlooked at the apartment became a very minor point of debate, usually a debate that ended in some form of banter. She had given him a demonstration one night about squeezing the toothpaste from the bottom of the tube. At the apartment he had always had his own and she had let it slide. These little things, her tendency to want to do dishes directly after a meal, they were acceptable, they were manageable and honestly Will contributed their willingness to compromise and work out the little things that drove most newlyweds insane to the emotional turmoil that had been the majority of their relationship. It helped to put things into perspective, having gone through something like that.

Certain things about her he doubted would ever change. She still got herself worked up over things that he would never think twice about and she continued to worry about the opinion of other's but it wasn't as severe and they hadn't used the tranquilizers since he wasn't sure when.

There had been a panic attack, once. The result of her father calling one night to check up on her in a conversation that had quickly turned south and although Will was certain Dave hadn't meant to offend his daughter, mentioning that he was surprised she had eaten ice cream at the annual school Ice Cream Social hadn't been the wisest of declarations. Emma had managed to calm herself down but it had taken a while, nowhere near the hour-long episodes he had seen her go through, but still longer than it would have taken the average person.

"Did you hear that Idina is coming back to Glee?" Emma fixed her eyes upon his and he couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm. He hadn't realized just how much the Broadway star meant to his wife until he had discovered that Emma had somewhat religiously kept tabs on her since her stint in Wicked.

Taking another bite, and finishing the cookie Will shook his head. "I don't read those spoilers like someone around here does." He teased, mocking her and her obsession with the show that had grown on him over time.

"I didn't go searching for it." Emma defended, her hands flying up in the cute manner he had come to equate with her when she was speaking passionately. "She tweeted." She giggled now, knowing that he would roll his eyes at the source and he did, for her, so she would laugh again.

It was liberating, to watch her take another cookie before he had even reached for one himself, knowing that he wouldn't have to convince her it was okay or console her afterwards. Every once in a while a meal, not a snack but a full meal, would get to her and she would get restless. They had developed a sort of code for these times and she would ask if they would go for a walk, which loosely translated meant that she wasn't feeling comfortable with herself and the food she had just eaten. Once in a while he would pick up on the signs and he would suggest the walk, either way the dog probably didn't mind.

For the most part he no longer feared that she would try to throw up anything she ate even if she was feeling bad but he would be lying if he could say he had banished the idea completely. Most of the time she never used the bathroom directly after a meal and he suspected this was as much for her sanity as his. Ever since she had been taken off the Ensure she had been doing wonderfully with eating regularly and he hadn't caught her restricting since they had lived at the apartment. She would balk at certain foods, and he figured she always might and occasionally she engaged in some moral licensing but when he listened to the other women around him it was all he heard. Talk of how they could eat the brownie if they ran that night or walked more or that they could justify a candy bar because they had been 'good' with their diet all day. In truth it was talk he had never really paid attention to. He paid attention to it now and he could only imagine what it was like for Emma to hear.

"I have something for you."

Will glanced up, momentarily silenced by the child-like exuberance in her eyes, the unbridled excitement that it was still so rare for her to show given the way she had grown up.

Two pieces of paper appeared just to the left of his plate, the typing small enough he had to lean forward and squint to make it out.

_William Schuester_

_HP084858/01_

_Imzadi's And Who Can Say What We Are? (D) _

_Retriever, Chesapeake Bay, Open Dog_

_This entry acknowledgment will admit two exhibitors to Central Ohio Kennel Club Inc._

Beneath the sentence he had long ago given up on seeing anywhere near his name was a date for a show in Columbus a couple months away. The show he had been toying with entering Moritz in since he had stumbled across it on the Onofrio website. He hadn't been aware Emma had known anything about it.

"I-I don't know what to say." Will replied honestly, reaching across the table to grab her hand. "Thank you."

"Say we are going to the dog show." She offered, intertwining her fingers with his while biting her bottom lip gently, the way she did when she was nervous or excited, or both.

Will's mouth opened but all that came out was a combination between a surprised gasp and a small laugh. "Of course we are going! Any chance I can talk you into showing one day?" He pressed, taking advantage of the form admitting two exhibitors.

"I don't know Will. This is your thing." She backtracked, keeping her hand in his but stiffening slightly. "I'll be your support group."

"I'll change your mind." He joked in half seriousness, really wanting Emma to try showing but not willing to force her into it. "Speaking of support groups, how is yours going?"

He watched as a few emotions played across her face as she stood to clear the table, as predicted washing the plates and glasses immediately before sitting back down. She grabbed him by the elbow then, pulling him into the living room and down onto the couch.

"It's going well. I'm worried about the boy, Scott. He talks but not a lot. Actually he has stayed after sometimes to talk with me when no one else is around. I swear Will it's like someone recorded my every word and thought when I was so sick and he memorized them. It's like listening to myself and sometimes all I can think about it is, 'oh my god did I really sound like that?"

She shifted, snuggling closer against him and he wrapped his arms around her torso sliding down so that she was on top of him. He didn't know how to ask what he wanted to without coming off as insensitive or paranoid and maybe he was a little bit of the latter.

"You're doing okay right? Hearing these things, I mean I don't know what you guys talk about but it's not…triggering is it?" He held his breath, volleying between wanting her to be outraged that he would ask so that he would know how ridiculous his fear was and wanting her to reveal, that yes, it was difficult, if that was really the case.

"I'm okay for right now. I've talked to Sue and she has agreed to take over if it ever comes to that but I don't think that will happen. I feel like I'm in a really good place. I still have bad days, days were I feel huge and frustrated but there aren't as many and that has to count for something." Emma sighed, a heavy sigh but not one that was weighted with the burden of a heavy topic, more of a relieving sigh that he could feel just as easily as hear.

"I trust you, you know." He added for reasons he wasn't really sure of, simply wanting to reassure her that he too felt she was in a good place.

"I know." Emma turned in his arms, bringing her mouth to his for a tender kiss that held no expectations of becoming anything more than what it was.

"Are you excited for the show?" She asked, pulling away, regarding him with a barely contained smile.

"I am but we have a lot of work to do. Are you excited?" He tossed the question back, remembering their last show, how it hadn't been so bad until the confrontation the lady at the food stand.

"I'm excited for you." She replied honestly, pulling him in for another kiss and this time he made the first move, picking her up and carrying her bridal style to the bedroom where he was careful to support his weight as he crawled over her, moving his lips down her neck, reaching for the hem of his old shirt and purposefully turning his caress into a tickling match that earned him a shocked squeal paired with a half-hearted protest and a feather-light punch to the stomach.

"I told you that wasn't fair earlier." He grinned, reluctantly crawling off of the bed and heading towards the living room with a smirk knowing that at any moment she would come up behind him, wrap her arms around his neck and jump up onto his back, laughing in his ear while he carried her back to the bedroom to finish what they had started.

When her arms nearly choked him and her laughter rang through the air he couldn't stop his smile and the sensation that he was falling in love with her all over again, the real her, the one that had been denied to him for so long, the woman that he had always known was there somewhere, waiting.

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><p>AN: Again, thank you to those of you who are continuing to read. I know everyone says it (but that means it's true) but reviews make my day!

Another thank you for the absolutely lovely reviews at the end of part one. I was touched, really. Thank you.

If you are a linguist, or studying linguistics, please know I only had one class so I could be wrong in my title. Kindly...don't tell me! Ignorance is bliss.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I've been a bit of a writing streak lately, good for you guys I guess!

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><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

**Emma's POV**

Emma rounded the corner, moving cautiously as she re-entered the Health classroom that was dubbing as their meeting place, careful to keep her steps even so the tea swirling suggestively within the mugs in her hands wouldn't slosh out.

She had left a few minutes after the group had ended and the kids had trickled out one by one, all but Scott who had pretended to study a poster of the human body. Emma had felt nervous for him, knowing that he was waiting to speak with her and probably self-conscious about the students who didn't seem to be in a hurry, gossiping by the door before waving their good-byes and turning down the hall only to think of one more thing to say.

He was sitting in a chair now, the same one he always sat in for the group, slid all the way back so that he feet hovered inches above the floor, absently, or maybe determinedly swinging one sneaker covered foot back and forth, his hands shoved under his body as he stared at the ground.

"Scott, you're still here." Emma concentrated on keeping her voice unassuming but the tea, the incriminating second mug, gave her away and she smiled warmly instead, dropping the act.

"Looks like you were expecting me." He said softly, eyeing the substance that she was holding out to him like a dog about to bolt. Or like a person with an eating disorder about to bolt.

Standing there, a smile plastered on her face to cover the frown of understanding, her arm outstretched in a silent offering that meant so much more than a simple mug of tea; it meant she had been waiting for him, it was a confirmation he couldn't deny that she was welcoming him, and as he carefully reached out his hand, roughly tugging the sleeve of his oversized sweatshirt back and wrapped his fingers around the handle, it meant acceptance.

"It's just tea."

A three-word reassurance designed to inform him that there weren't any calories. That the brown liquid couldn't hurt him, that she understood, and in that moment, she became the sufferer and the loved one, and the recovered anorexic. In that moment she was three people. She was the tense young man slumped in front of her, regarding the mug between his hands as though it contained poison. She was a woman recovering from an eating disorder, identifying with his fear of something not deemed safe with a painful clarity and she was her husband, looking on with sympathy and confusion as something that she had never perceived as a threat threatened the very being of the boy who wanted to talk, longed to hide, and wished for the help she knew he was unable to ask for.

"I bought my mom chocolate for her birthday." He blurted out, each word connected to the previous one as though rushed to leave the entrapment of his body, tell their story.

Tentatively he raised the cup to his lips, almost as if experimenting with how far the rim of the mug could be from his mouth and not spill. His eyes shifted restlessly, flickering from the tag on the tea bag to the floor and finally back to his lap. Never to her, not while confessing because that, connecting with her while he revealed something that had been eating away at him, would have been indulgent, and shameful.

Emma only nodded, clamping down on the scenarios that the simple action could have forced into action, waiting for him to continue, surprised and relieved that he had begun to talk so quickly. He never spoke in group, he listened, as if he were collecting information for a research paper he listened, but he never once opened his mouth. She had no qualms about that, she had stressed at the first meeting that if someone didn't have to talk they weren't obligated to knowing that it wouldn't do any good to force them when they felt as though they might be divulging what had come to be both a shameful secret and a source of insurmountable pride.

Today they had discussed how every time there was a negative consequence or they realized just how bad things had become as they became more entrenched in destructive behaviors, that the next time, even though they vowed to do better, they fell right back, somehow able to convince themselves that this time around, it wouldn't get so bad.

She had seen their eyes widen, or fall to their laps, two different reactions to the same feeling; recognition. Often, to ensure they didn't feel like they were the only ones speaking she would revisit some of her own experiences, a prospect that was bittersweet as the room around her seemed to disappear and the memories flooded back bringing with them sensations sometimes painful to recall.

She had explained that she did it, that everyone did it. That even now when she thought about some of the lowest points of her disorder, issues not necessarily related to weight, she downplayed how serious it really was and that every time, she believed herself. Mornings where it had been a colossal effort to even crawl out of bed were somehow chiseled into simply being tired. Tired, not weak from starvation. Tired, as though she had stayed up too late the night before, certainly not the result of weeks of subsisting on only a couple meager bowls of oatmeal a day.

One girl, a junior with shoulder-length brown hair and a penchant for brightly colored clothing had spoken up next, saying that it was so twisted how the eating disorder could convince you that, somehow, the bad stuff couldn't touch you. Emma had felt her brow furrow in a gut reaction to the confession that while running, on an empty stomach, for miles on end the girl's body had finally given out and she had collapsed with a pain in her chest she would learn later was a mild heart attack. It was enough to scare her, initially, but soon, after days of being forced to cut back on her exercise because of the heart monitor that would give her away her legs were itching to run and the very day she got it removed, she was out running. To Emma's relief, her parents had discovered what was going on and she had gone to treatment and was now eating healthy and no longer exercising excessively. These things were good but the mindset was still there, and though her body appeared normal, the girl felt anything but and that was why she was there.

"I bought my mom chocolate for her birthday and because I was so afraid of it, so terrified that somehow just because it was in my hands that it would be absorbed into my body through osmosis, I threw it away in a neighbor's dumpster." Scott looked up at her then, pain and sorrow and guilt etched into every crevice on his young face. "It was money I borrowed from my dad." He whispered, his voice then growing in intensity as though mocking his actions. "I had to sneak into my own house, grab the spare cash I always keep hidden just in case and go out and buy a card, not food because I wasn't going to make that mistake again, but a card because I needed him to think I had spent the money."

A tear was forming in the corner of his eye and his bottom lip was quivering, his mouth threatening to pull into a frown even though she could see how tense he was, how much he was trying to avoid succumbing to what to him, would be a sign of weakness.

"I did something similar to that once." Emma longed to reach out and hug him but refrained, opting instead to match his confession with one of her own because she didn't really have the words and saying 'I'm sorry' just didn't seem appropriate.

"I bought Will some of this ridiculous candy he loves so much and I was so excited about it. We had just started dating and I had seen it in the store and couldn't resist and what made the whole thing worse is that I felt normal, buying that for him but on the way home I started to get nervous, because it was sitting next to me on the passenger seat and that was too close so I threw it out the window." Her voice trailed off, somewhat melancholy as Scott glanced up at her through the tears he was still trying to prevent and she could see it on his face, the relief that it wasn't just him.

"It gets worse." Emma continued, "I turned around and drove back to get it because I had realized that Will was going to be driving that way to come to my apartment and I didn't want him to see it. That's pretty crazy you have to admit. He would have been zipping along at thirty-some miles per hour and I was afraid he was going to see a bag of candy and somehow equate it with me."

Scott laughed, a choked sound that couldn't decide if it wanted to give itself over to the new emotion that was nestling into the sadness so freely overtaking his mind.

"That is bad." He admitted, taking another sip of tea and chuckling once more, his eyes finding hers as they shared a laugh at her expense, at the expense of the logic that only masqueraded as such.

"I want to be normal, like everyone else" He confessed, fixating his gaze this time on her, because this wasn't exactly so much of a confession, as a longing.

"A friend once told me that if you think someone is normal you don't know them well enough." Emma countered gently, finally placing a supportive hand on his shoulder, wondering if the jarring sensation, the instantaneous urge to remove her hand, as she detected prominent bone beneath her palm was how her husband had felt when he had done the same with her.

Will appeared in the doorway then, skidding to a halt, winded undoubtedly from teaching the kids the new choreography he had been working on in the evenings, often involving her even though she was fairly certain she wasn't needed. He paused, caught between bowing out gracefully because he had interrupted a moment he hadn't been aware of and committing to the entrance that had already committed to him.

Scott stood up abruptly, casting his eyes to the ground, hastily jamming the half-drank tea onto a nearby desk. "I have to go," he whispered. "Hi Mr. Schuester." And he swept past Will, not acknowledging his response, eager to get out and Emma couldn't fault him for that, she had been there once too. It seemed she had been everywhere the young man currently was.

"I'm sorry," Will began, twisting his head over his shoulder to watch the boy power-walking down the empty hallway, his sneakers squeaking ominously on the freshly polished floors. "I didn't know…"

"It's okay." Emma smiled, collecting the mugs and motioning for Will to follow her to the teacher's lounge. "He'll be back next week, don't worry. He's just scared."

"Of me?" Will questioned, taking the mugs so she could grab a book on the way out the door.

"Well, he probably knows you know about eating disorders, so I imagine so, yes." She said gently, hoping that her answer wouldn't offend the man now deep in thought a few feet away.

They conversed for a while on different topics, Will having changed the subject to Rachel's latest antics in Glee but Emma could tell his mind hadn't stopped turning over what she had said as they gave in to a shamelessly teenagers-in-love display and held hands as they made their way home.

"It's weird talking with them sometimes. I felt like you today." Emma admitted, fumbling with the keys for a few frustrating seconds before locating the one for the front door.

"What do you mean?" He asked, as she held the door open and they both stepped inside to the sight of Moritz who was acting as though he hadn't seen them in five years instead of a day, bouncing indecisively between her and Will, not sure who he wanted to greet first.

"He was afraid of tea and although I understood that, that almost primal fear that overtakes you when something isn't considered safe I couldn't help but feel confused because tea was never something I was afraid of, and even though I entertained my own screwed up ideas about food, the idea that he could be afraid of something that didn't have any calories was…hard to understand." She finished, her voice rising in pitch as though saying how she had felt out loud only made her reaction more confusing.

"Sucks, doesn't it." Will quipped, smiling at her, depositing a kiss on her cheek before bending down to scratch Moritz under the chin, the burly dog practically melting into his touch, slumping against him with the equivalent of canine oblivion; squinted eyes and mouth lolling open in a broad grin, evident on his face while his tail thumped wildly against the floor.

His response was so natural, easy-going, a comment that could have seemed flippant if she didn't know what was unspoken behind it, the countless situations where he had sacrificed his time and exhibited more patience than she thought one person had any right to possess to convince her that something, often something as innocuous as blueberries with oatmeal, wouldn't rocket her into some frenzied state of mindless eating.

"We need to finish grooming him." Will said, straightening out, and with a smirk turning to her. "I believe I was trying to do that last night."

Emma blushed, giggling as she remembered her shameless attempts to distract him even though she had known he had wanted to get done with the dog last night. They had given Moritz a bath, and Will's training once again defied what she often pictured when she envisioned bathing a dog; soaked shirts and a soggy, soap-covered dog sliding through the house while hapless owners yelled futile commands. Moritz had only stayed as Will had instructed and in the end it had been Emma who had purposefully splashed Will with a glassful of water, jumping up and skidding her way down the hall as he had darted after her, finally pinning her on the couch, where truthfully, she had wanted to get caught.

Another round of tickling had begun and digressed into the realm of things more intimate until the dog, finally deciding that he had endured enough, climbed out of the tub trailing wet foot prints and soap suds through the living room, sitting there staring at them as if telling them off. The bath water had been drained and refilled, having gone cold in their absence and after they had managed to soak each other while Moritz had looked on, they had finally succeeded in getting him bathed. They never got him on the grooming table though, Emma running her hands underneath Will's wet t-shirt had pre-empted that activity before it had even begun.

"You didn't stop me." She grinned, swatting at his chest then reaching down to playfully grab the retriever's tail so he would spin after it.

Will had always joked that Moritz had done more 'doggy' things than any dog he had ever owned. If she made a move for his tail his ears would perk up and his head would whip around as if discovering the appendage for the first time and he would turn in endless circles until he miscalculated and grabbed his back leg instead, throwing him off balance much to her delight. He also had a doggy odor, something Emma had come to accept, while in an odd turn of events, it still bugged Will who claimed to have always rolled his eyes when owners complained of their dogs smelling like a dog.

One evening she had come home late from a required seminar on counseling in a neighboring town to find him Febrezeing the dog bed. She had pointed out that he should have simply trained Moritz to do it himself like the dog in the commercial that when around spraying where his humans had been. That was how she learned that Will kept abreast of the latest accomplishments in the dog world. Apparently that dog really had been trained to wrap his paw around the bottle, no technology had enhanced the effect.

"Maybe I didn't want to, stop you that is, but we are going to pay for that tonight. The show is tomorrow and I'm no expert in grooming Chesapeake Bay Retrievers. I'm operating off of instructions via the phone from our breeder."

She still couldn't feel guilty despite the slight trace of worry she detected on his face. Peeling wet clothes from each other in a fumbling attempt to get to the bedroom had been worth it. Smiling as her mind relived sections of the night before she entertained, then discarded, the idea of helping him set up the grooming supplies. His movements were so practiced she would have guessed he had been doing this for years as he easily flipped the table upside down, pressing one foot onto the bottom while he unfolded the legs before righting it and attaching the grooming arm she always thought resembled more of a noose.

Even the way he handled the dog, placing one hand just beneath his chin and the other underneath his stomach to quickly and effortlessly, lift him onto the table bespoke of his knowledge in this area. Emma had once asked why he didn't place on arm at the front of his chest and the other just beneath his rear and lift him that way. Will had blamed his childhood Golden Retriever, saying that if he had carried her that way it would have messed up her coat and that now, even though Moritz didn't have much of a coat to mess up, it was habit.

Secretly she loved seeing him interact with a dog, curling up into a comfortable ball on the couch as he began scissoring the scraggly furs at the back of Moritz' legs, his lips pursed and his movements calculated. He trimmed up the dog's ears, going over his entire body to rid him of hairs that would disrupt his outline before taking a stripping knife to the sides of his neck to thin out his coat.

An hour and a half went by as he moved on from the finer points and covered the basics such as making sure that Moritz' toe nails were cut back as far as they possibly could be, far enough that they didn't touch the ground, and cleaning out his ears, jamming q-tips far deeper than she would have ever dared.

"Couldn't you puncture his ear drum?" Emma questioned, wincing on behalf of the dog that seemed completely oblivious to Will's digging.

"There's a ninety-degree turn before you reach his ear drum. It would be pretty tough." He commented somewhat absently and Emma found herself shaking her head at the amount of knowledge this man seemed to have accrued.

"At least we don't have to chalk you right bud? Or use Kolestral, I hate that stuff." Will loosened the noose around Moritz' neck, letting him jump down from the table, answering Emma's questions before she had a chance to speak them. "For white dogs, or even white patches a lot of times people put chalk on the coat to make it whiter and Kolestral is used to give the coat more body. Have you decided if you are going to show one day?"

Emma paused, not wanting to throw away the numerous evenings she had spent outside with Will as he had gently instructed her in the finer points of showing a dog. "Let's go train tonight and if I don't do something incredibly stupid, I'll consider it."

He smiled, and she melted, taking the show lead that had somehow found its way into her hand, making sure it was turned the correct way before putting it on the Moritz. They stepped outside, the air growing chilled as the months drew nearer and nearer to winter and Emma listened when Will told her to act as if she had just entered the ring. There were so many things to remember, the dog needed to be on her left, the lead balled up neatly in her hand, not fisted, but gripped lightly and then of course there was the Four Second Rule that had been imparted to Will by a trainer; one second to correctly place each foot.

Will casually stepped over to her, greeting her as though he didn't know who she was, congratulating her for a fictional win, running his hands first over Moritz' head while she made sure to distract him with a hot dog slice, keeping the lead directly behind his ears while Will's hands roved over the dog, feeling his sides, skimming down his front legs, pulling down ever so slightly on his tail to see that it was the right length before very discreetly traveling back up and between his rear legs.

Emma giggled, the sound erupting from her despite her valiant effort to contain it. She knew it was a necessary part of the examination, checking between the dog's legs but for some, probably childish, reason it always made her laugh to watch Will do it.

"Shut up." He deadpanned, his professionalism dropping off before settling back into his voice just as quickly as it had left. "Down and back please, ma'am."

Stifling a comment Emma returned her attention to the directions he had just given, balling the leash up in her hand the way he had made her practice when there had been no dog on the other end, making sure it was placed directly underneath Moritz' chin, coming up from underneath the ear closest to her in the trademark way for handling most sporting breeds. She made a small circle in front of Will, a courtesy turn he had called it, and took off down the driveway, taking four walking-speed steps before breaking out into a sort of loping run that had taken her a while to perfect.

Supposedly, the top of her head was supposed to glide not bounce as she moved the dog. They had garnered curious stares from their neighbors as he had demonstrated the handler's gait over and over with no dog and Emma had realized then, that showing a dog was just as much about knowing how to blend seamlessly into the background as it was presenting the actual dog.

Upon reaching the end of the driveway, she stopped, allowing Moritz to circle around her, and she held out her right hand to focus the dog's attention before heading off towards Will again, making sure to glance up at him when she was at the half-way mark. Will had told her that it was perfectly acceptable for her to stop if the judge wasn't looking but she had a feeling she would never be able to do that. It seemed to close to demanding the judge watch because she and her dog were the best, but maybe that was what it was about, that confidence.

Free-stacking, getting Moritz to pose himself at the end of the pattern was the easiest part. The dog did it effortlessly, after many not-so-effortless nights on Will's part spent teaching the dog to adjust his paws on command. Will studied the dog, moving around the dog so that Emma was forced to move with him, the golden rule of always keeping the dog between the judge and herself surfacing in her mind. He ran then, giving her no warning as he darted around them, coming up behind her, whispering 'oops' into her ear while his hands rested on her waist.

"That's not fair," Emma started to protest, cut off by the sight of their neighbor that had just moved in earlier in the day stepping outside.

She was slender, tall, dressed in a pair of black running shorts with a baggy plain-white t-shirt hanging straight down, not interrupted by any curves, especially not interrupted by her barely-there, breasts Emma noticed immediately. This woman had just moved in, Emma had seen her outside all day with friends moving heavy pieces of furniture and now she was going out for a run. It was perfectly plausible that running was a way for her to relax and that she simply enjoyed running through places she didn't know but it was also perfectly reasonable that something else was going on, more than reasonable.

Trying to not be conspicuous she watched the nameless woman fish an iPod out of a pocket and place it in the holder on her arm, bouncing on the balls of her feet for a couple seconds before taking off at an easy jog, a pace that didn't appear to be too physically demanding, but then again, Emma had no idea how far this woman ran. She turned to smile at them, a self-conscious smile as though she was uneasy about people seeing her. It was that expression that told Emma everything she had truthfully already known.

Normally, someone out exercising wouldn't care either way if others saw them but it made this woman nervous, and she had looked sheepish, like she thought she was doing something wrong, and then there had been the expression in her eyes, the dull exhaustion warring with a grim determination that Emma, although not a runner, was all too familiar with.

Had she been at a different point in her life Emma would have been envious of the woman who was now disappearing around the corner, jogging to the tempo of some song only she could hear, to the tune of a disorder Emma knew like the back of her hand. Her past self would have been overcome with a sort of defensive anger. Defensive because this woman would have represented a threat, someone who had the potential to be better than her at something most never dreamed of attempting and anger because the woman was running, showing more discipline than her.

Throughout her disorder Emma had read about anorexics who exercised compulsively and she had always hated that she didn't, lying in bed at night thinking about how much more weight she could be losing if she were burning more calories through physical activity. It was one of the roads she had never travelled, and she was grateful for it now. Recovery had been difficult enough without having to deal with the real-life physical withdrawal symptoms that someone with an exercise addiction went through.

"I'm sorry." Emma whispered in the direction the woman had taken, almost wishing that she could somehow impart those words, the understanding that they carried, to the complete stranger she felt an almost visceral connection with.

Will's arms wrapped around her, and he pulled her close causing her to realize she must have spoken out loud. He never said anything, holding her tightly against his body as though he was trying to protect her from what they had just witnessed.

"What are the chances of that, her moving in next door?" She questioned more to herself than the man whose heartbeat she was listening to. "It's like a conspiracy theory."

"It's sad." Will admitted with a heavy sigh that seemed to reverberate through her, "but she probably needs a friend or two."

Emma smiled, touched that he hadn't hinted that he was worried about what they had just found out, worried about her, and what it could mean to see someone actively engaging in such behavior but rather, that he had suggested they reach out to her and if she was anything like Emma had been, isolating herself more and more as her routines grew increasingly bizarre and harder to explain, she was probably very lonely.

They remained outside for another hour, Will having her do a couple other patterns that might be asked all the while the fact that the woman had not returned from her run not escaping Emma' s attention.

Back inside the house, they tore down, and packed the grooming equipment into the trunk of the car, deciding it would be easier and less stressful to do it the night before seeing as Chessie's, because they required so little grooming, showed at ten in the morning. Show clothes were chosen as well, Will choosing a grey suit and Emma, just in case, throwing in a blue blazer and skirt. The reservations at a motel that accepted dogs had been made only a few miles from the show site. It was a bit backwards to be driving to the show in the morning but they hadn't wanted to spend the money for two nights. As it was they had only got a room for Saturday night, choosing to drive home Sunday after the show.

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><p><strong>Will's POV<strong>

Having decided to make spaghetti, a dish they hadn't really attempted since the night Emma had dropped the can of sauce, Will relaxed into the evening, only slightly on edge about the events looming on the horizon. His own nervousness about something he hoped he still enjoyed.

He was steadfastly refusing to put much thought into the woman they had seen while out working with Moritz. Sadly, before his experience with Emma he probably would have thought that she was just a naturally slender, dedicated athlete. Now, he was able to pick up on the small details that would have escaped him, the characteristic way in which her clothes had hung loosely around her frame, not the result of her shirt being purposefully oversized as he probably would have once believed, and the tense, curt smile she had afforded them before setting off that looked exhausted, forced, and sick.

Hopefully, with time they could befriend her and maybe show her that interacting with people wasn't so bad, especially if they weren't going to be those neighbors who randomly popped by with brownies or some variation thereof on the societal tradition for welcoming newcomers.

The meal fell into place effortlessly and soon they were sitting at the table, something they tried to do almost every night. It didn't escape his attention that they were eating later than usual, well past the time that at one point, had been the cut off point for Emma. She had once revealed to him that what had started as breakfast and then a meal at five in the evening had transformed into no breakfast and a meal, a bowl of oatmeal, at five and never later. She had read a study about weight gain in women who ate after eight in the evening and even though that study had applied to women who were eating a normal amount she used it with herself.

Occasionally they would sit down to a meal and he would find that the event passed by casually as if it forgot that not too long ago it had been a major undertaking. While the food steadily disappeared from their plates they talked of their day, Emma revealing what Scott had revealed to her and confessing something she had never told him.

His shock was marred with sympathy but not surprise when she recounted having thrown out the candy, then driving back to dispose of it somewhere else. It was just another in a long line of nonsensical things the disorder had convinced her was something that needed to be done.

"Speaking of candy," Will stood up, crossing the kitchen to the small green bowl of chocolates they usually tried to keep on hand, plucking up two and tossing one over to Emma.

He loved that she indulged in a piece of chocolate every night, something she had started after hearing at the meetings she used to attend, that a recovered anorexic did as a treat to herself, and a sort of 'screw you' to the mindset that still surfaced once in a while.

As she smiled at him, the chocolate half-way to her mouth, he snatched the camera that had been carelessly placed by one of them on the counter just behind him, wanting to capture the moment, Emma sitting in their kitchen with her feet tucked underneath her, looking natural and relaxed, an empty plate in front of her, her nose wrinkling in protest in the most adorable way just as he snapped the picture.

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><p>AN: I enjoyed writing this and I hope you all enjoyed reading it. Reviews are like...Idina returning to Glee!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: and the writing streak continues...

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><p><strong>Chapter Three<strong>

**Emma's POV**

The change that seemed to content to slam into him rather than wash over him was visible the instant they stepped through the overheard door, Will carrying the grooming table in his right hand while Moritz trotted happily on his left. He had wanted to carry both the table and the heavy stainless steel tack box but Emma had refused, shoving him off and ordering him to take the dog because she knew how desperately he had always longed to be _that_ person, the one leading their own dog through the show site.

As it was the tack box, that had been a graduation gift from his father wasn't all that heavy, just awkward and bulky, one of those shapes that refused to give itself over to easy handling and so, every few feet it swung against her leg but it was worth it, to give Will this small childhood dream.

He staked out a spot off to the back of the non-reserved grooming sections, needlessly informing her that they had to stay within the tape. The paper plate, not-so-needlessly informed her with someone's loose script in black sharpie that they were number fifty-four. Before she had even set the box down he had the table up, whirling around to greet her with his eyes buzzing with excitement and he looked so different, she noted, in a suit and tie instead of a sweater vest with a button-down.

"You know, it would have been smarter to lug that crate in here first." He mentioned, running one hand through his hair before the movement caught up with his mind and he paused, shaking his head at the habit he was trying to break. "Wait."

The word had barely left his mouth and he was off, covering the distance to the door they had entered in purposeful strides, suit jacket floating out gently behind him while Emma stood staring after him with a confused expression, noticing he didn't have the dog. Glancing down she found Moritz in a sit, his eyes riveted on Will and she laughed realizing that her husband had been commanding the dog, not her.

Deciding to stay where she was Emma surveyed her immediate surroundings, dogs of breeds she didn't recognize and had probably never heard of were standing, sitting and sprawled lazily across tables while people in various stages of show-ready dress doused them in powder she assumed was chalk or blow-dried the longer hair on their legs all while carrying on conversations with those around them, as though they did this every day, and maybe they did.

One woman was balancing an ancient hair-dryer under her chin so that both of her hands were free to comb through the silky featherings of a cocker spaniel's ear while another, trimming the toe nails on a Boxer, glanced up sharply when the dog made a weak pass at nipping, her eyes boring into the dog, who turned his head, appearing sheepish like he was re-evaluating his impulsive display and realizing that it wasn't the wisest decision he had made all day.

"That," Will began, appearing beside her, apparently having caught the same scene, "is what we affectionately refer to as an 'Alpha Bitch,' Don't piss her off, as that poor dog is learning the hard way."

"Ahh," Emma smiled at the term, "and what is the term for men in the dog show world who shouldn't be pissed off?"

"There isn't one." Will quipped, kneeling down to set up the folded wire crate in a way that never ceased to amuse her.

She had watched her father, and she had herself, struggled with the very crate that he seemed to bend to his will, opening up the three panels that would form the top and longer sides of the crate so that the two panels that overlapped on the inside, the ones that would form the back and door of the crate were easily accessible. Then he would grab onto the top piece and wrench it backwards so that it barely caught at the rear of the crate, giving him just enough time to grab the door and latch it in place at the front before, in what she had gathered was a bit of a game for him, he would sprint around the crate and try to grab the back panel before it fell back in to latch it properly.

It took him maybe two seconds.

Her record was thirty two.

She knew this because he had been there, stop watch in hand, throughout the entire ordeal, mocking her with overly enthusiastic encouragement and play-by-plays that made it nearly impossible to concentrate. Her limbs had turned to jelly with fits of giggles she couldn't dissuade. After that, she had made a point to refrain from commenting on his speedy assembly. She didn't want him to time her again because she wanted to keep her record, not worsen it.

"Beat that." He taunted in a sing-song voice, ushering Moritz into the crate with a grin.

It was ridiculous, a competition over the assembly of a dog crate, but it was them, and she cherished it for that reason.

Checking his watch, noticing the time Emma had momentarily forgotten about saved her from any further commentary he might have been planning and she smirked back when he retrieved Moritz from the kennel he had just put him on and plopped him on the table, touching up little things here and there before slipping the lead around his neck.

She followed as he set off for the ring, experimentally gaiting Moritz for a few feet before seeming to mold into everyone else around him, one hand gripping the dog's lead right at the silver chain collar, keeping the dog close while he weaved in and out of hoards of handlers doing the same with their own dogs.

She caught up with him when he reached the table that sat ringside, where a steward waited to pass out armbands.

"Chesapeake Bay Retriever, Open dog." He informed politely, snatching up a rubber band from the Ziploc bag that was overflowing while the woman checked the catalogue at her fingertips, pulling a rectangular slip of paper from a box.

Emma giggled as she watched him fumble with it, trying to figure out how to successfully slip the piece of paper beneath the rubber band he had placed around his left forearm.

"Give me that!" She demanded, ripping the now crinkled paper from his hand, and tearing it slightly on the perferrated slits so that the rubber hand would hold it properly.

"You know this is like the equivalent of the mom that calls the kid over to clean their face while the whole playground watches." He grumbled, staring straight ahead, his posture defeated as Emma fixed the armband so that the number was visible.

"Stop whining." She threw back, grinning at a woman with a Beagle who was watching them with an amused expression from the next ring over.

They watched the first Chesapeake's go in, first the dogs than the bitches starting with the puppies between six to nine months and moving on to the classes that only served to break down the Open class that Will was entered in.

"Chesapeake Bay Retriever, number nine!" The ring steward called out and Will breathed deep as he headed for the entrance of the ring.

She could tell he was nervous but he had been studying the judge so intently that Emma was betting he knew what the elderly gentleman was going to do before he knew himself.

He looked so professional, stacking Moritz in the middle of a line of Retrievers of slightly varying shades, his strides matching those of the professional handler in front of him when the judge asked them to please 'take them around.' Moritz was so focused on Will, on the garlic chicken Emma had been forced to smell the entire drive down that he occasionally tossed in the air before letting the dog nibble off a piece.

"Oh, Will." Emma gasped anxiously, closing her eyes momentarily when he dropped the bait and Moritz lunged for it seconds before the judge was going to examine him.

To his credit, he didn't seem too flustered, although she imagined he was, but the judge, one of those jovial souls truly in love with their work, only laughed it off and gave him the time to reset the dog. After that, everything went perfectly and Will and Moritz took Best of Opposite Sex to the professional handler and the female retriever they would learn later, going over the catalogue in bed by the dim light of a cheap motel lamp, was the number three Chesapeake Bay Retriever in the nation.

"You know," Will called out as he approached her with a gleeful smile on his face. "I was worried I was going to get in there and wonder what it was that I ever enjoyed so much, but I love it Em, I love it. Everything about it, stacking the dog, the feeling of the armband around my arm, the sensation of gaiting around the ring, I love it."

For a moment she didn't know how to respond to his confession having always assumed that he never doubted his passion for showing dogs, but then again, when someone was removed from something they once enjoyed long enough their mind starts to distort their memory, almost like it's trying to protect them, to convince them that the thing they no longer had room for in their life wasn't all that important to begin with.

That was a very fundamental difference between a beloved pastime and an addictive behavior, or a set of addictive behaviors like those that comprise an eating disorder. Her mind, no matter what, was always twisting her memory of what it had been like to be sick but instead of working in her favor to show her how horrible things had been, it worked against her and maintained that everything would somehow be perfect if she just went back. A dead ringer for the lesson she had just imparted to her kids the other day.

"Are you hungry?" She asked, more as a way to reassure herself of who she had become than to really know, but the rings were clearing out and the judges, as evidenced by the American Kennel Club ribbon on their clothes, were making their way to the concession stand.

"Sir?" A woman, the woman Emma had smiled at earlier with the Beagle tapped Will on the shoulder, her expression indicating that she hoped she wasn't interrupting. "I was wondering if you wouldn't mind playing Judge for my daughter. She wants to show tomorrow and I just need someone to-"

"I'd be happy to." Will broke in, alleviating the woman's distress before it could manifest any further and she looked at Emma mouthing that they would be right back.

Emma followed, watching as Will introduced himself to the little girl who could not have been older than nine or ten, eclipsed by the empty ring that suddenly seemed so much larger when the person inside it was so small.

He was wonderful with her, lifting the tri-colored Beagle onto the table that was slightly too high, waiting patiently as she very meticulously wrapped her tiny hands around each individual paw and slid it into place rather than picking it up. Emma laughed then, when Will very gently pointed out that she had put the front legs just a little too far forward, ensuring the dog resembled more of a rocking horse than a stacked show dog, having been on the receiving end of such a comment more times than she could count when she had been learning how to stack Moritz.

The girl listened closely, and kept her eyes trained on Will while he moved one leg to where it needed to be letting her move the next. He examined the dog, bypassing the part that always caused Emma to giggle and in that animated way of an adult interacting with a child asked her to do a pattern, but not before he helped her get the dog off the table.

"He's great with kids." The mother whispered, seeming to regard Will with a sort of reverence that only mothers watching men with children can achieve.

"What's her name?" Emma questioned, nodding slightly to show that she agreed with the woman's observation.

"Hannah." She smiled, rolling her eyes slightly. "She's determined to show that dog in Juniors and she's nine no so I can't stop her anymore. She's growing so fast. I swear just the other day she was using two hands to try and move his paws."

Emma smiled, not finding it difficult at all to envision what the mother was talking about as she watched Will whisper something to Hannah before giving her a thumbs up and walking out of the ring.

"Do you have any?"

And there it was. The innocent inquiry Emma had been expecting from the very moment the woman had come up beside her. The question that held in its resolution, the one-worded reply she had already decided upon, an answer so much more tangled than the one she was about to give.

"No."

_No, because you see I'm a recovered anorexic and part of anorexia is an irrational fear of weight gain and part of getting pregnant is gaining weight, and you probably wouldn't understand, but that's a problem for me. I won't tell you any of that though. If I hadn't had kids because I had been undergoing chemotherapy, I could tell you then, but admitting that I had an eating disorder, society frowns on that. Somehow, revealing a struggle with a physical illness is acceptable but saying you are mentally ill, isn't._

The woman, distracted by her daughter bounding up to her, excitedly asking if she had 'moved the dog out right' while bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, never had the chance to respond and for that Emma was grateful.

They spent the rest of the day milling about the show site, Will, in his youthfully enthusiastic way, pointing out different breeds and explaining the regulations for the different levels of obedience and Agility before they would inevitably end up back at the conformation rings, and she could tell, that while the rest interested him, this was what moved him.

When groups rolled around they devised a game, each playing dog show judge and choosing the dogs that they thought, Emma for reasons of recognition or beauty, and Will due to knowledge of breed standards, would take one of the coveted four placements.

Will beat her every time when it came to the group winners but she chose the Best In Show winner, a striking lemon and white Borzoi that seemed like it could have stepped out of some aristocratic painting, and she delighted in feigning forgetfulness, and re-asking just what dog it was that went home with top honors because it was her victory, in his domain.

* * *

><p><strong>Will's POV<strong>

Somehow he felt more nervous for Emma, now stepping into a show ring for the first time in her life, than he had when he had been the one on the other end of the leash. She looked stunning, professional and sophisticated in the blue blazer and matching skirt, a tank-top of deep violet just visible underneath the jacket.

There were differences in her this morning, divergences from the way she normally dressed for school. She was wearing panty hose, something they had ventured out for last night after she had finally decided she would try to show Moritz, saying that she had noticed that all of the women wore them. He didn't mind it, and he understood why she had wanted to wear them, but he preferred her without them.

Her hair was tied back, fashioned into an eloquent bun with clips to tame the wild hairs that liked to fall out and frame her face. It was such a striking effect, seeing her hair completely pulled back and once again, he didn't mind it, but he preferred it down.

He laughed to himself when she popped the hunk of garlic chicken into her mouth as she began to gait Moritz down the diagonal strip of matting at the judge's request. That had been something she had been appalled with at their first show, and now, after having learned just how difficult it was to balance a show lead and bait while having to quickly stack a dog, she was doing it without complaint.

There was one less entry today and he had carefully chosen to leave that bit of information out as she had prepared to go in the ring. The special that had beat them yesterday was not entered today, and though he might be biased, he knew Moritz had a good chance at taking Breed over the remaining entries and he had wisely deduced that telling Emma that would only cause her to panic and not show. If Moritz won, he wanted her to have that success.

He pretended to be surprised when Emma's shocked eyes found his from across the ring where the judge was leading her over to the table so she could be handed the Best of Breed ribbon. That was a bit of ring procedure he had forgotten to go over, and as she had looked around in confusion for a few seconds, the other handlers must have realized her inexperience, immediately pointing out where she had to go seconds before the judge intervened.

"Congratulations!" He exclaimed excitedly, pulling her in for a kiss as soon as she stepped out of the ring that she barely returned, still too surprised to really register much of anything.

"Follow me." He whispered, knowing that if he told her where they were really going she wouldn't, as he, and a few other handlers, trailed after the judge now moving on to the next ring.

She successfully distracted herself, talking about how she couldn't believe they had won while they stood in a line she hadn't realized was a line until it was her turn. That's when she had whirled on him, her eyes frightened, and as expected, she tried to get them to leave with a flutter of excuses.

"I'll help, don't worry." He silenced her mid-protest then smiled at the photographer, who smiled back, probably used to people doing exactly what he about to do.

He led Emma out into the ring by her forearm, instructed her to walk Moritz onto the ramp placed at the center and helped her stack him knowing that if the picture was taken and the dog was standing incorrectly it would drive her insane. Whispering a few quick pointers on how she should stand he hurried off to the sidelines, smiling at the event she didn't know the importance of. That was what made it so special.

As soon as the picture was done she was inches away from him, a bundle of mannerisms, blurting out that she couldn't possibly take a dog into the group ring. He gave in then, telling her that he would handle that, because truthfully he had always wanted to.

* * *

><p><strong>Emma's POV<strong>

They were sitting at a small table near the concession stand each eating a cheeseburger and Emma was struck at how different this meal, the exact same one she had ordered at the last dog show, truly was. She was chatting with Will between bites, secretly pleased that he was going to have the chance to show in the group ring and still slightly annoyed that he had tricked her into a picture, a win shot he had called it.

"Will!"

A high-pitched voice squealed at a decibel it seemed only children could reach seconds before Hannah appeared at his side, the white stick of the customary sucker the stand was distributing with every order protruding from between her smiling lips. "Are you going to come watch me show? Please! I'm in ring three, in an hour!"

Emma grinned at the little girl's request, the adorable way that she was now watching Will, waiting for the answer that Emma already knew was coming.

Setting his cheeseburger down Will turned to the brunette, pretending that he was having to consider his options before saying, that yes, they wouldn't miss it for the world.

Hannah jumped up and down excitedly with the energy of a child adults could only wearily wish for, wondering what corner of their life their own exuberance had crept off to. Turning to inform her mother, cutting off the reprimand Emma could see forming on her lips, probably because the girl had wandered off without permission, Hannah opened her mouth to speak, forgetting about the sucker, which seemed to fall in slow motion to the ground, rolling across the floor, picking up fur from what was probably twelve different breeds before it came to a stop.

Everyone paused, staring, and Hannah just stood there, her eyes downcast as she tried not to appear as crestfallen as she obviously was.

Before anyone had moved Will was kneeling in front of her, "Here, take mine." He offered, "You're going to need it so you can run around that ring in an hour." He clarified when the girl tried to say no, keeping his voice gentle yet raised in pitch in an endearingly fatherly way that both Emma, and the girls' mother, melted at.

Hannah thanked him, her tone shy but appreciative as her mother shepherded her off to finish grooming their dog.

"Here, take mine." Emma held out her own sucker with a smirk. "You're going to need it so you can run around that ring in a few hours."

As Will chuckled, accepting the candy with an embarrassed grin, she realized it was the first time she had ever offered him food without an ulterior motive of ensuring she didn't have to eat it.

It was weird, how every once in a while simple, normal things the eating disorder had robbed her of appeared in her life; foreign yet familiar in some forgotten way.

* * *

><p>"Sir what kind of dog is that?" Emma worked hard to act like she wasn't married to the man standing just in front of her chair on the other side of the plastic fence that designated the group ring.<p>

"This," Will said, playing along with an authoritative and informative tone, "is a Chesapeake Bay Retriever."

"He looks like you. His coat, I mean, it matches your hair." Emma grinned wickedly now, dodging the small piece of chicken Will lobbed in her general direction while mumbling 'very funny' as the dog in front of him moved up and he did the same, effectively rendering any following conversation impossible.

Spying the chicken piece that had landed just inches from her feet she picked it up, a devilish plan forming in her mind as she palmed it and fixed her gaze on Will, now roughly four feet away. He was talking with the person in front of him, relaxed as he waited for the judge to examine the dogs at the front of the line and this, Emma could take advantage of.

She tried, and failed miserably, at stifling her giggle when the piece of chicken successfully connected with his back and he turned, unaware that it had come from her. It was the handler he had been conversing with who gave her away with a wink, leaning over and whispering in his ear something that must have been incriminating because soon the piece of chicken was back at her feet and Will was sticking his tongue out.

Briefly she considered continuing what they had started but the multitude of fur that almost eclipsed the tiny morsel caused her to hesitate and when she glanced back up at Will he was busy stacking Moritz, only one dog, a German Wirehaired Pointer, away from the judge. All in all it was a good excuse to leave the chicken where it was.

She was surprised when she heard others clapping as Will gaited Moritz, that is, until she caught sight of Hannah on the other side of the ring, tugging on what have been her father's suit jacket until he gave in and added his applause to that of the determined girl and her mother.

Offering Will a thumbs up he didn't notice when he free-stacked Moritz at the end of the line before quickly setting him up as the judge made the final walk-through she thought about the girl, her family, and how much Will would enjoy teaching a child to show a dog.

Will and Moritz were passed up but earlier on Will had revealed that he wasn't expecting to place in the Sporting group. Emma hugged him anyways once he finally forced his way through the sea of working breeds waiting to enter the ring.

She didn't have to worry about disposing of the chicken. Moritz accomplished that for her with the lack of finesse only he could manage.

They packed up their grooming site, mutually agreeing to get on the road as soon as possible rather than stay to watch who got Best In Show and as the afternoon sun began to sink into the horizon Will kept Emma awake with talk of Hannah.

"I wish I would have grown up at dog shows like that. She was so cute, handling that Beagle. Did you hear her ask her mother if she had moved him out right?" He asked, and Emma could hear the smile on his face.

They had gotten to Hanna's Junior Showmanship early, having wanted good seats and the girl's mother had only laughed when Hannah, fourth place ribbon in hand, had made a beeline for Will, who had given her a high five and posed for an impromptu picture that Emma would love to get a copy of.

"What did you whisper to her, before you left the ring?" Emma questioned, suddenly curious to know just what it was that had plastered such a thoughtful expression across the girl's features.

Will chuckled, as he passed a slow-moving van. "I told her to remember to hold his tail up and then said that I knew she would do great."

"Did you see her clapping for you in groups?" Emma tried out the term she had often heard Will throwing around. "She was across from me, and she bugged her dad until he clapped too. It was sweet. She really admires you."

"She's a good kid." He agreed, his tone contemplative, and somehow Emma knew without either of them saying it that a door, a previously closed one, was now cracked open.

* * *

><p>Emma shrugged out of the blazer and skirt that had almost begun to feel stiff as the day had wore on, relieved to be back home in their own bedroom, looking forward to sleeping in their own bed.<p>

"Let me help you with that."

Will slipped in through the partially-closed door, his jacket gone, and his dress shirt already partially unbuttoned as he stepped up behind her, bringing his hands to the waist line of the panty hose she had been moments away from removing.

She shivered when his thumbs hooked beneath the tight material and giggled as he dropped to his knees, peeling them down her legs, pausing just long enough for her to lift up her foot so he could get rid of them completely.

He slid his hands along the sides of her legs then, slowly moving up until he reached her torso and she turned under his embrace so that she was facing him, running a hand through his hair while he planted kisses on her stomach.

Standing up he drew her in for an open-mouthed kiss that tried it's best to make them forget that they had to be up early in the morning for a faculty meeting but in the end, reality won out and they pulled apart, their hands lingering on each other's bodies as their arousal slowly subsided and they went about their separate nightly routines, occasionally stopping mid-stride to steal a kiss or a caress.

* * *

><p>Emma couldn't sleep, wrapped up in Will's tender embrace beneath the blankets, her mind swirling around the events of their day, around Hannah and her husband's words on the way home.<p>

Making sure Will stayed asleep she slipped out of bed, tip-toeing down the hall to the computer room, hurriedly cranking the volume down on the speaker's Will seemed to perpetually leave at the highest setting as the room became bathed in the distinctive glow as the computer whirred to life and she found herself staring back at her.

The picture Will had snapped just the other night filled the screen and Emma studied it, focusing for a while on the plate, the red streaks of spaghetti sauce smeared across it, the chocolate piece that was centimeters away from being in her mouth, lost in the normalcy of it all.

In that picture she looked like the woman she had always envisioned; confident, relaxed and happy. She could see why Will admired it so much. It was the physical representation of who she had always wanted to be, and as she gazed into her own laughing eyes, she wondered when that had happened, when she had found what she had been looking for.

She waited impatiently for Google to load, already knowing what she was going to search, rolling her eyes when the computer prompted it for her. She lost track of time as she read, gleaning information that was both uplifting and disheartening, skimming through personal accounts as well as scholarly articles because she didn't just want cold, hard facts.

Glancing at the clock she noted with a sigh that it was two in the morning and she dreaded the thought of having to drag herself out of bed in the morning, bookmarking the sites she had open, saving them in one folder under a name that wouldn't draw too much attention if Will saw it.

She would have preferred to print the pages out but that would have to wait for a time when she wasn't running the risk of waking her sleeping husband. Erasing the browser history, she shut the computer down, lingering in the room until everything went black and she had to grope around for the door, not used to navigating the small space in the darkness.

As she climbed back into bed, resuming her original position she allowed herself a small smile, drifting off to the tune of words and statistics that worked as much in her favor as they did against it.

"You're back." Will mumbled, causing her to jump as he encased her once again in his arms..

"Emailing the breeder." She whispered, not feeling guilty about the lie because at some point, though she wasn't sure when, she would reveal to him what she had been doing.

"M'kay," He slurred back, "had fun today, you looked really good showing."

He sounded so sweet, his words running together like the thoughts that refused to settle in her mind, and for a moment, she contemplated saying something, but they were tired and she didn't know the words, and the morning would come regardless.

* * *

><p>AN: I can't take credit for the scene where Will gives Hannah his sucker, that belongs to faded_glass and it was simply to 'aww' moment worthy not to include.

To those of you who reviewed with a veritable novel (you know who you are) that truly made me feel so blessed. I'm so honored that so many of you are going beyond simply reading, and are really becoming (or already are) so connected to these characters. Some days, I can't believe I have accomplished something so wonderful!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I swear I have a life outside of writing (ask the dog who just got groomed for the show ring in the ninety-degree heat)

I'm touched that so many of you like the relationship between Emma and Scott. I truly love writing them.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four<strong>

**Emma's POV**

Their meetings had become a cherished routine over the weeks. He would always linger, no longer so awkward as the others left, piling into their parent's cars or heading off to their next after school activity and Emma would supply the tea that he had grown to enjoy with time, accepting it not because of some self-imposed obligation, but because it had become a source of comfort for both of them. A safety net they could turn to, sip at delicately, when the words they were trying to speak were too difficult, lodging in their throats as if afraid of being released after having existed for so long within the confines of their own unspoken fear.

"I miss the locusts that sing through the evenings in the summer." He began without a prompt, like his thoughts were deciding their own path and he was deciding to follow. "My dad and I used to go camping when school got out. I used to fall asleep to their droning. Now, when I hear them I think about those nights." He paused, momentarily clutching at the fabric of the t-shirt he was drowning in, hiding in, pulling it forward at the neck so the bottom no longer rested against his stomach.

It was a gesture the world would have overlooked, but she caught it, and understood it, and it gained the voice he had neglected to give within her mind.

_I know I'm fat. Please don't look._

"And if I close my eyes, and I stop breathing, because nothing smells like that campfire, then I can forget who I am, and what I'm doing for these few glorious seconds, until my mind forces its way back in, and I remember." He continued as though he hadn't breathed that cautious sigh of relief when the material had straightened, his fingers toying absently with a string that disrupted the outline of his shirt, the outline of his life.

With a heavy sigh that was destined to be defeated before it filled the room he took a sip of the tea he had been studying as though, maybe, if he wished hard enough it could produce the answers he sought. The same ones she had sought, still sought, would always seek, she secretly feared.

He was losing weight. His paranoia increasing as hers had. Now, when she placed a hand on his shoulder or went to hug him good-bye his body would stiffen beneath her fingertips and he would jerk away, forever trying to mask his terror with a grin, never looking at her after, as though he was convinced she might see his weight written in the shame held captive within his eyes.

Every week she had started the question, always the same way, with his name, because by doing that she could morph her inquiry into anything and he would be none the wiser. Today, as she noted how pale he had become, the result of more than just the disappearing sun, and the way his cheek bones, chiseled beyond the counterpart of health, demanded her attention, she tried again.

"Scott, if I asked, would you tell me how much you eat a day?"

His expression turned hard in the glow of question she could almost touch it was so dense, and she could picture it, the ground she had just relinquished, the trust she had so carefully cultivated these last few weeks crumbling into a sea of suspicion that she herself had almost drowned in.

"Would you?" He fired back. His tone sharp, accusatory, ominous in the pitch that had no intent of returning to its tonic, and he didn't have to say it, she knew what he meant.

_Would you tell me how much you ate?_

His eyes sliced through her, shredding her confidence and the stream of air that spilled from between his lips, infused with a disgusted disbelief she longed to push away, back to the place where it had bubbled up from, was like a slap to the face.

"I thought not." He spat harshly, blindly groping for the book bag he had carelessly shrugged to the floor at the start of group. "I'm not that stupid you know." His voice rose as his fury gave way to a defensive rage that was both dissonant and harmonious, the octave after the perfect fifth in the Surprise Symphony that only those who had listened before, knew to expect.

Emma jumped as the mug of tea hurtled towards the ground, swallowed by the carpet that its contents discolored easily, like the weighted words that now stained their relationship permanently.

"Tell them, whoever the hell you are reporting back to, that I eat twelve pizzas a day!" And he was gone, his retort seeping into her soul like the heat that transferred from the mug still resting between her palms; immediate and scorching.

The door slammed behind him, leaving her buried in the aftermath of the scene that had just unfolded as she tried to tell herself that the glint of light in the track of moisture she had glimpsed on his cheek was just a stray drop of splattered tea.

* * *

><p>She didn't talk much as Will carried on about his day while they trudged into the blustery wind that burned at her face, like the anger she still felt for what she had said to Scott, still burned at her soul.<p>

"Hey," Will grabbed at her forearm lightly, applying a gentle pressure that wasn't necessary because taking another step seemed overwhelming. "What's wrong?"

A breeze picked up around them and she angrily tucked the hairs it loosened behind her ear, scowling at nothing and everything but the man who was patiently standing in front of her, waiting like always.

He reached out, placing his hand beneath her chin, raising her face to meet his and she blinked rapidly against the tears that had been building with every playback of her conversation with Scott, where she conjured up ways she could have prevented the fallout, and felt sick knowing that it was just a torturous game she hard partaken in since she was a child; rewriting words she didn't have the right to rewrite.

"I really messed things up with Scott." Emma paused, taking a deep shuddering breath. "I asked something I shouldn't have and he got mad and stormed out. I'm so worried about him Will…and I thought that maybe because he knew I had been there that he would tell me, and I was wrong."

His silence, followed by a sad smile meant to be reassuring was the response she hadn't realized she had been hoping for and his arm finding its way around her waist as he wordlessly kissed her cheek and started walking was the comfort she hadn't realized she so desperately needed.

* * *

><p><strong>Will's POV<strong>

"Do you want to talk about it?" He offered softly as he sat down across from Emma at the kitchen table, the meal she had only picked at lying foreboding and intrusive between them.

He had watched from afar as Scott had gradually opened up to Emma sometimes for an hour and a half after the actual group had ended. They had grown close in the way only those who shared a mutual understanding of something the world collectively swept under the rug could and he had refrained from offering his own advice on anything until she asked for it, preferring to let her navigate this on her own.

Now, because she was poking her way through the second bowl of Macaroni and Cheese she usually ate without a problem, he felt the need to intervene. "Emma, talk to me, please. Maybe I can help."

"He's getting so sick Will." She glanced up, her eyes boring into him, searching his soul for answers he felt exposed for having given up on finding. "I feel so helpless, like all I can do is watch and that's the worst feeling in the world." She sniffled, jamming another bite of noodles into her mouth even though he could tell she didn't want to.

"I know." He whispered, reaching out to grab her free hand, rubbing his thumb across the back. "You don't have to eat that if you don't want to. Sometimes when I'm upset I don't want to eat."

The comment took him off guard as well, existing outside the realm of things he had ever thought he would say to her. Perhaps, it was a piece of the foundation of their relationship that wasn't built on the disorder but on her recovery. Perhaps, he only wanted to offer comfort and repeating the words his mother had imparted to him after he had learned about Terri's deception seemed fitting, even if in the light of everything Emma had been through, they sounded wrong.

Emma shook her head in a silent refusal of his offer, withdrawing her hand to take a sip of water before returning her attention to the food in the bowl in front of her. "I don't know what to do. How did you know what to do?"

Will leaned away from her question, away from his answer, pressing his back into the chair behind him while he contemplated what she had asked, trying to come up with some informed response that would give her everything she was looking for. But a variation of the same tired sentence he had uttered so many times in therapy sessions was the only thing that came to mind, because it was the truth as much as he wanted to reject it.

"I don't know what to do Em."

Saying that to her, admitting the defeat that had plagued his body and mind as he had aimlessly drove through Lima in silence that had seemed to twist back on itself until it too had become as deafening as the sounds of her forcing herself to be sick that had looped in his mind's ear through his entire night in the motel, only choosing to leave him alone four days later.

"After I left you at the hospital, I don't even remember the walk back to the car. What I do remember," Will shifted his gaze from her to just above her shoulder, "is completely losing it in the parking lot."

Emma's mouth fell open, shock and guilt warring for dominance in the creases that had appeared on her forehead. He had never told her much about that day. That would have been too close to reliving it.

"Did you cry?" She implored softly, timidly. The words falling from her lips as though they had merely been waiting for someone's permission, his or her own he wasn't sure, to be spoken.

"God yes," His voice cracked and he attempted to offset the raw emotion he hadn't been intending to reveal with a small smile. "I cried, I yelled. I hit things." He confessed the latter knowing it would affect her but needing to say it, almost able to feel the searing pain as his elbow had connected with the driver's side door.

Her face crumpled, the apology he didn't want her to feel she had to make cut off by the sob muffled in the sleeve of her sweatshirt. The sob that he knew wasn't solely evoked by what he had just imparted but had been waiting in the wings of her emotions since they had gotten home. Either way, regardless, he was on his feet in an instant, drawing her into an embrace he longed for just as much as her, swaying them gently back and forth to a nameless rhythm, holding her as tight to him as he possibly could.

"I can't ever apologize enough for what I put you through." Emma gulped against him, tears beginning to soak their way through his shirt like her words, the guilt she still harbored, soaked into his heart.

"It wasn't your fault. Please don't think that it was." He whispered, backing them both away from the table, steering her towards the hall and into the bedroom, away from the dishes, the mess, that they could deal with in the morning.

* * *

><p>He woke to find her missing, the sounds of running water in the kitchen informing his mind before his other senses truly caught up that she was doing the dishes he had decided to purposefully let slide. Every once in a while she could break one of her own rules, more so now than she had ever been able to do before, but if she was stressed, or upset, or nervous than that reprieve was denied.<p>

Rounding the corner to the kitchen he watched silently from behind as she tirelessly scrubbed at a fork in the dim overhead light from the stove. He had become somewhat of an expert reading her behavior and this, he could tell, was not the frenzied act of a compulsion, but rather, an attempt to drive herself to distraction.

"I asked him how much he eats." She laughed bitterly, surprising Will because he hadn't been aware she had known he was there.

"That's what made him angry." He stated rather than clarified, watching as Emma let the utensil sink the beneath the soapy water, her shoulders lowering.

"I should have never asked him that." She turned, snatching up the towel that was draped neatly over the handle of the stove, drying her hands, then her eyes.

"It needed to be asked." He said simply. "Maybe it was good it was you. Someone he trusts, because we all have noticed and it's only a matter of time before someone says something."

What he didn't say, that they were all hypersensitive after having dealt with Emma was something he couldn't say because it seemed incriminating somehow. She fidgeted, shifting her weight from foot to foot and he could tell she heard the other words, the other silent words that rested just beneath the spoken ones. That, as teachers, they were required to act if they felt a child was in danger from others or themselves. Briefly he flickered back to the girl in his Spanish class that had been so sickly thin, the one he had pegged as a diet freak, and his remorse for his own ignorance, and the action he had not taken, tripled.

"Come on," he yawned, stretching out his arm. "Let's go to bed."

She listened, trailing obediently behind him, crawling in beside him for the second time that night and he wasn't sure how long she stayed on her back but the stray moonlight filtering through the blinds illuminating the room just enough that he could make out that her eyes were still open, was the last image he saw when he closed his.

* * *

><p><strong>Emma's POV<strong>

The tea sat untouched on the desk in front of her, adding its heat to the room that seemed barren without his slight form hovering over the various posters along the far wall. She hadn't expected him to come but she had made the tea anyways.

Gathering the pamphlets she had yet to sort through she flicked the light off, forgetting the tea wouldn't dispose of itself as she stepped out the door, locking it behind her, the click finalizing her decision that waiting an hour was long enough.

As she pushed her way into the brisk late afternoon air she caught sight of him, of his loose clothing and shaggy brown hair that so often fell into his face, hiding the blue eyes that spoke so loudly even when he said so little.

"I brought you tea." He said sheepishly, producing a worn traveling mug from within his book bag and she noticed that his own traveling mug was sitting at his feet, open to the elements, the cold that would punish him by denying his body the sustenance provided by warmth.

Emma smiled, wrapping her fingers around the insulated container, closing her eyes briefly as it radiated life against her skin. She didn't ask why he hadn't come inside, or attended group. That was his reason, not her knowledge.

She didn't apologize and neither did he. Neither of them were really to blame for what had happened and the tea, peppermint, was different from the flavors she usually brought for him, refreshing, comforting and an appetite suppressant she remembered reading once.

He looked so pitiful, uselessly brushing the hair out of his eyes only for it to fall back with a vengeance a second later, his lips chapped probably from dehydration, his fingernails tinted blue, imbued with the sickness that seemed more evident now than ever before. She caught him, flipping his hand palm up, curling his fingers, studying the nail beds and her eyebrows creased because the action was so heartbreakingly practiced and she found herself mimicking him, glancing at her own hands, the fingernails that were normal in color, despite the bitter air.

There had been a time where she had become obsessed with her fingernails, compelled to check them whenever she could, always searching for the symptom she had read online one night. That often, the fingernails of an anorexic turned blue when the disease had progressed far enough. Many wore nail polish but she never had because that would have covered up what became an indicator of progress, strength and discipline. Once, walking through the halls, engrossed in the lines of her own hand, devoid of jewelry, a faculty member had joked 'can't get enough of that ring can ya?' like they assumed she had been admiring some trinket of feminine beauty. She had only smiled, neither confirming nor denying, and vowed to examine her fingernails in private from then on.

"There's someone I want you to meet." Emma began, treading a dangerous line on the foundation still heavily cracked from the week before. "Someone you can talk to." 'Someone trained,' she didn't say.

"I like talking to you." He countered in confusion but she could see on his face that he wasn't writing her off, not yet.

What she wasn't revealing was that Sue had informed her earlier on in the week that someone was going to be contacting his parents and Emma didn't want those people, the ones Scott had often spoke so reverently of, to believe that their son was doing nothing, sitting idly by while wasting away. She had made the phone call that afternoon, scheduling an appointment she wasn't sure she would keep because she didn't know if he would listen.

"We don't have to stop talking. I just want you to talk with her too. You would like her, she's nice." And she saw it, the briefest flicker in his resolve to seek no one's help, the tiny crack she was shamelessly exploiting because she didn't want someone else, someone who wouldn't understand how fragile he is, doing it for her.

"Will you come with me?" He asked as though he knew she had already set up the meeting, like he was already aware that a stranger was waiting in the teacher's lounge, present at her request, because she wasn't sure how the school would view her driving a student to another location.

"Of course." Emma assured, smiling and beckoning him through the double doors she had just exited, placing a comforting hand on his back, wincing when the outline of his shoulder blade met her palm.

* * *

><p>It was Kristen's idea to move from the teacher's lounge to the environment that already had lent itself over to confessions, the classroom that still contained the mugs of tea, sitting dejectedly atop the large desk at the front. They all folded themselves into the student's desks, creating a triangle and Emma longed to reach out and tell the young man who was clearly second-guessing his decision that it would be alright.<p>

"Don't hospitalize me." He blurted and Emma's eyes closed involuntarily as she recalled thinking that very line in the presence of the blonde, she had simply been too afraid to voice it.

"We're just going to talk." Kristen reassured him gently, throwing a glance in her direction, silently asking if she was going to be okay staying in the room. Emma nodded, she was in this, for better or worse she was in this.

Tears pricked at her eyes as she watched Kristen interacting with Scott, wording questions in such a way that if answered, it didn't feel like a betrayal or a confession, but simply a stating of what was. By the time she asked a variation of what Emma asked only seven days earlier Scott was talking freely, clearly relieved and that was how she learned that he had a meager bowl of cereal in the mornings, the same kind every time, made with water instead of milk, hiding out in the sanctuary of his bedroom, pretending to sleep while his parents got ready for work. He would grab a handful of carrots from the school cafeteria at noon if he thought he could get away without eating anything at dinner time.

As with most families, everyone was left to fend for themselves in the evenings, and he could often get by with stealing a granola bar, one hundred and ninety calories of failure, he had confessed. When they did sit down to a meal he pushed his food around the plate, creating the illusion that the portions were becoming smaller. Some nights, when he was restless, he would raid the fridge, usually for slices of bologna he would fast for two days later to punish himself for. His disorder, it seemed to Emma, was slightly more extreme, a bit more dangerous, and at one time that would have angered her, now it just left her worried.

"Do you think the number will ever be low enough?" Kristen asked and Emma distinctly remembered being where Scott was now, curled up on a plush couch instead of seated in a hard chair.

"It tricks you into thinking you're going to stop. Maybe one-hundred and twelve becomes the weight you want, and one-hundred and seven sounds exhausting and far too extreme but then one day the scale reads one-hundred and twelve, and suddenly one-hundred and seven sounds perfect and one-hundred and four becomes the line you won't cross. And the funny thing is, it works every time, and every morning just before you read that number, you think that if its down just one more pound, that you can stop."

She wasn't sure where he got the numbers, whether they were life examples or arbitrary constructs construed for the question he was answering without answering. They sounded different to her now than they would have. At one point, one-hundred and twelve would have seemed unfathomable and weak. Now it transcended into the realm of disordered because if she weighed one-hundred and twelve, while not dangerously low she would still be underweight and she would definitely be sick.

Kristen slid the conversation into things Scott enjoyed, trying to lessen the effects of the heavy material they had spoken of in manner Emma was all too familiar with from her classes in counseling. That was how Emma came to know that he loved to paint and that he could spend hours in front of a canvas creating pictures he held only within his mind. As he left, shyly agreeing to schedule an appointment with Kristen the next week after Emma had assured him that the school would cover the cost, he promised to bring some of his artwork, to show her after group.

Topics transferred to her as she had been expecting, having not been attending weekly but rather monthly appointments after the dietician had said that she thought she could handle it. That had been a day of conflictions. She had felt relieved that she would no longer be seeing a dietician 'every' week but she had also been terrified of what the cessation of the appointments meant, that she was growing independent of something that had held her hand for over a year.

They caught up on her life as of late and Emma discreetly mentioned Hannah but Kristen caught on when she was explaining how animated Will had been and before she left she placed a hand on her shoulder and told her it wouldn't be easy, because it never was, eating disorder or no, but she would be a good mother.

* * *

><p>That evening as Will hooked a twenty-five foot red nylon lead onto Moritz' blue nylon collar, a color he had chosen on purpose just to bother her, Emma thought about the websites she had bookmarked weeks ago, the ones that were now resting heavily in a three-ring binder and wondered how she would ever bring the topic up with her husband.<p>

"Okay take these," Will plopped a pile of slimy hot dog slices cut into fourths into the palm of her hand. "Now go hide somewhere easy to begin with and drop a slice or two every few feet."

Emma laughed shaking her head at her husbands' antics. He was so excited, having read a blog about training a dog to play Hide and Seek, something he apparently had never been able to teach his Golden Retriever because no one had wanted to help.

She watched as her feet crushed the blades of grass, littering hot dog slices in her footsteps until she ducked behind a nearby bush, still slightly visible, as Will had called out to her. He jumped up excitedly, overly-enthusiastic for the sake of the retriever at his side, pointing at the ground reminding Emma of a study Will had once told her about.

Dogs, not wolves, and not chimpanzees were born with the ability to pick-up on human social cues such as pointing gestures. When tested, all variables controlled for, domestic dogs, including puppies, successfully selected the correct bucket, containing the meat the researcher had pointed at. Tame wolves, raised in the company of humans, physically turned their head as if bored and consistently went to the wrong bucket as did chimpanzees raised in captivity. All of this, Will had excitedly told her over dinner one night, meant that dogs have evolved with a mechanism for deciphering human social cues. The dogs that learned to interpret what people meant when they moved in funny ways got more scraps, and in doing so, lived to breed.

Moritz got confused after a few seconds of fruitless sniffing, whipping his head around so that he was facing Will as if demanding to know why the man had asked him to do something so pointless. That was another things dogs did that wolves did not, they turned to humans for assistance when they couldn't figure something out for themselves.

In a way Emma wished she had been like that with the eating disorder, but part of the disease is a steadfast reluctance to not only forgo asking for help, but to fail to see that anything was wrong with their behavior. At the time, she had known her behavior was odd and she had gone out of her way to conceal it, her isolation fueled by her distorted perception of being overweight.

She had once heard a psychologist say that the human sensory perceptual system, if working correctly, gave misinformation, distorted things. Hers, she surmised, under his definition worked a little too correctly.

Moritz nose bumped her hand and Emma opened it, letting him have a 'jackpot' as Will called it. A really big, tasty reinforcer for a really good job. They continued the game until the sun began lowering in the sky and the locusts started singing and instantly Emma thought of Scott.

She closed her eyes, seeing what memory might come to her as she listened to their rhythmic pulsing but the only thing she saw was his face as he had discussed endless nights of star-gazing with his father. As she and Will headed back to the house she paused at the mailbox, unable to recall if she had gotten the mail or not.

There was a pile of envelopes inside, one stiff and larger than the rest and by the way Will's eyes lit up she had a sneaking feeling that it was the win shot from the show. Another envelope, plain with disjointed block-letter print caught her attention. Using the house key from the ring in her pocket she opened it and gasped.

A picture fluttered to the ground, landing right side up and Emma's heart melted as she took it in. It was the picture Hannah's mother had taken of her daughter and Will. Hannah kneeling next to Will, behind the Beagle she had stacked all by herself and Will was standing just behind them, off-centered so that he was clearly visible. In one hand, held the way she had seen the judge's do for the win shots, was the fourth place ribbon Hannah had earned in Junior Showmanship. He wasn't staring at the camera, but rather his head was angled down towards the beaming girl and her dog, his grin a mile wide.

It could have been his little girl, he looked that proud.

* * *

><p><strong>Will's POV<strong>

Dabbing the last of the water from his hands, his futile attempt to get rid of the smell of hot dogs, he made his way over to Emma, peering over her shoulder at the glossy eight by ten photograph of her and Moritz. Her smile was genuine and anyone who saw would have thought she was used to posing for such things.

Hannah's twinkling eyes smiled up at him, just visible beneath the cell phone bill they hadn't bothered to open yet. For a few moments, as he had clapped and cheered when she was awarded fourth place he had imagined what it might be like if he had a daughter, and she showed dogs.

He hadn't mentioned anything to Emma yet but he had been late to class one morning because of her. More accurately, because of the kindergartners that had been flooding the halls for a play that the drama group was presenting that afternoon. A young boy, blonde with red and white striped t-shirt, and dark blue jeans had dropped his glasses and a classmate had stepped on them.

A side of Emma he had never seen became visible to him then and he had stood in the center of the squealing children simply watching her as she had knelt before the boy, her face sympathetic yet cheery as she scooped up the pieces and gently took his hand, dropping her hand to rub in small circles along his back when he latched onto her leg in a tight hug. He held her hand all the way to the office, Emma speaking animatedly as the boy wiped furiously at his tears, laughing at something she pretended to whisper, as though a secret.

He had imagined her being pregnant many times and he had entertained daydreams of doing most of the work on a school science project while their son or daughter fell asleep at the table, or teaching scales on the piano, but he had never once truly allowed himself to imagine her in the role of mother.

Now he did.

* * *

><p>AN: You should feel very well infomred, the two studies I mentioned about dogs are very important in the world of canine psychology...right, like anyone aside from me cares! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: A tad shorter than the others but important I feel.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five<strong>

**Will's POV**

He opened one eye first. Then the other when he found his view of her sheet-draped form disrupted partially by a resilient wrinkle in the pillow that he rested on. The sunlight was streaming in, shimmering through the room with whispers of morning routines only to linger upon her bare shoulder, mingling with the freckles he loved so much.

Memories with no concept of propriety awakened him fully and he decided that now was as opportune a moment as ever to repay her for the way she had roused him the other morning, with her mouth, deliberate and unabashedly confident, in a place that still colored his cheeks if he neglected to call his thoughts back.

He let time remain a mystery as he reached out, curving his palm around the shoulder he could no longer resist as he scooted forward, letting his lips caress the back of her neck, humming softly, a nameless melody that required no words turned low chuckle when his tongue detected goose bumps across her flesh.

He loved being able to do this. Wake her up with kisses and touches in the mornings, his wife.

"Will," Emma half-protested, her upper-half now twisted so that it was facing him, "Shhh," he silenced her first with air, then with his lips.

His hand trailed down her body, stopping to trace patterns teasingly on her hip, his thumb brushing gently against the soft skin of her abdomen. "I bet I could change your mind." He taunted, dropping his hand lower, chuckling at her intake of breath, smirking when her eyes fluttered closed and he knew he had won.

Time is not a fair competitor and the alarm clock crashed into them the way Emma's forehead collided with his chest, a disappointed groan falling from her lips before giving itself over to a whispered plea that would plague him through his day he was sure.

"God, please don't stop." She arched beside him, her hips rocking forward into his touch and he knew that even if they were going to be late, he couldn't disobey that request, not when she sounded like that, and her arousal, warm and slick, tickled his palm.

She whimpered when he moved away just long enough to blindly fumble for the alarm clock, the sound cut off mid-pulse because searching for the snooze had merited second place to simply tugging on the cord. The sounds she was making, he decided, should be standard issue for all alarm clocks. He would be first in line.

"Do you like that?" He whispered hotly against the shell of her ear, slowly pushing a finger inside, his thumb hovering inches above where she wanted it, teasing with the promise of pressure.

Her response was an incoherent string of words that he regretted not being able to understand but he gave in, allowing his thumb to trace languid circles across her sensitive flesh.

"Yes, just like that," she moaned and he chuckled once again against her, at the song lyrics she had unknowingly imparted.

Moving his mouth to her jaw he placed gentle kisses back to her ear, where he spoke roughly in the way she had confessed in his arms one night that she couldn't resist, demanding her compliance. For him.

Her body became heavenly, melting sweetly in his arms and he lingered for as long as he could spare planting kisses along her shoulder, the one the sun had known before he had . With a determined sigh, his forehead against her back, he willed his arousal away but not before he connected his lower half with hers, informing her that he would get his later that night and she giggled when he said it was going to be a long day.

Reluctantly he left her there, wrapped in the comforter, deciding to let her bask for a few moments longer while he took the shower he hadn't been planning on because pushing through the day that loomed before him without one sounded exhausting and torturous.

When he returned to the bedroom, beams of sunlight pushing away the shadows of the night, Emma was nowhere to be seen, that is, until he noticed the red hair that stuck up from beneath the light blue cover. It was unlike her to not be up before him and he took a sense of pride in knowing that it was probably a combination of their activities last night, and his continuance this morning that were keeping her in bed.

"Emma," he drew out her name, letting the last syllable hang in the air as he moved forward and gently gripped the edges of the blanket.

"No, five more minutes, please." Her voice was muffled but adorable as he imagined the way her eyes were probably tightly creased together, as though that might stop what he was about to do.

"You've had twenty." He leaned over and spoke against the blanket before yanking the cover back, laughing as she curled up into a ball, trying to re-capture the heat that had already fled.

"Shower's clean, if you want it." He informed her, as he slid one arm underneath her legs and the other behind her shoulders, determined to get her out of the room at least. "I think maybe we should aim for getting to bed earlier hm? Good thing tomorrow is Saturday." He laughed again when she slumped against him, barely standing of her own free will and mumbled something about it being worth it.

"Go take a quick shower. It will wake you up." He shoved her forward lightly, relishing in the view of her backside that the action presented him with as she shuffled to the bathroom. As he stepped past her, he swatted her teasingly because he wanted to, and he could. And he _loved _that she now had the confidence to walk around without any clothes.

* * *

><p><strong>Emma's POV<strong>

Emma grinned to herself as she stood under the warm spray, simply existing in the scent of strawberry shampoo, the tile cleaner Will had used, and the air that had still been heavy with the steam from his shower.

She didn't take long, wanting only to rid herself of any traces of his wake-up call and as she fastened a towel loosely about her body and padded back to the bedroom, where she found the bed made, and the aroma of a breakfast casserole they had prepared the night before indicating Will must be in the kitchen, she realized with a grin meant only for herself, that she felt confident, and sexy, and loved.

Moritz watched her dress with lazy eyes, never once speaking up to offer his opinion when she asked for it. She let her good mood influence her choice; the v-neck of her blouse coming just a smidge lower than the others did, because she felt like it, because she could.

She came up behind him silently, breathing in both the scent of his cologne and the smell of food simultaneously as she wrapped her arms around his waist, announcing her appreciation for this morning silently before moving away to set the table.

It had become a routine that defied routines, random yet fixed in a variable way. Every few mornings they would substitute their usual cereal and milk with the American stereotype and slowly, very slowly, Will was showing her things she had been leery of before the disorder, such as eggs and bacon, were delicious treats.

"You look beautiful today." He mused from across the table, his eyes and their intense honesty causing her to nervously finger the hair that still rested about her shoulders.

"Leave it down." He commented, his tone contemplative and sweet, as though he would suffer a physical loss if she pulled it back, as she had been intending.

By the time they finished eating, Will lobbing compliments that left her blushing and imagining how she could make this morning up to him, they were almost running late but she didn't care. They let the dog out, unable to ignore the way he was prancing, shifting his weight from paw to paw, by the patio door any longer. Stepping out into the deceptively crisp air, her act of rebellion, an attempt to lay claim to this seamless morning that was slipping away to the tune of seconds and minutes, she caught sight of their neighbor apparently doing the same.

It had been a while, days, since Emma had seen the woman outside for something other than a run and after shooting a glance at the retriever, plodding along at a deliberate pace, examining each blade of grass with an intensity that clearly showed his bladder hadn't been in that much distress, she decided she could say hello.

"Good morning!" She called out, raising her voice to ensure she was heard, holding her breath as though speaking to a wild animal that might bolt when faced with the unknown.

The woman, dressed for work she could now see, turned to her with a startled expression that was soon replaced with a smile, a shy one but to Emma's surprise she descended the steps and crossed over to the fence that separated their yards, their lives.

Ignoring the unsteady sensation of walking through the yard in heels Emma returned the gesture, and soon the only thing that separated them was the fence. It didn't do a good job of it, the holes between the links were like the pieces of this woman's life that Emma could see in herself.

They conversed easily for a minute, their eyes taking turns following the retriever until he squatted in the corner of the yard and the both felt the need to afford him privacy. Amanda, Emma learned, a Corporate Accountant whose fiancé had just been deployed for the second time to Iraq. She was friendly, far more inviting than Emma would have expected and her voice was soothing, with a hint of an accent that refused recognition. On some words she could detect a southern spin, reminding her of her father, and sometimes she sounded as though she hadn't been in the South long enough to truly adopt their way of speaking. It was intriguing, like her.

Amanda glanced at her watch, loose on her slender arm, her eyes opening in surprise. "Oh, I have to go. It was wonderful meeting you, really." And there was something in her eyes, some hint of understanding and recognition, like she knew what Emma knew about her. There was something else too, a reluctance to leave, to go on to whatever demanded her presence, and Emma understood that as well.

There had been times that Will's simple conversation had provided her with a sense of normalcy she would have done anything to hold onto for one second longer.

"You'll have to come over some time." Emma blurted before she truly thought about what she was saying, acting on what she had seen buried in the women's eyes but the sincerity in Amanda's gaze as she mentioned that she would like that, made her glad she hadn't tempered her words with thought.

It should be have been out of place, socially unacceptable, inviting someone over after having barely met them but it felt to Emma like she had known the woman for years, and somehow, that made it okay.

"Moritz here!" Emma called out loudly wondering if her voice would be enough to distract him from the Rat Terrier he was currently racing the fence line with. He turned to her, his eyes expectant and she could tell that he had heard and was debating. "Good dog!" She cooed as he shot one last seemingly sorrowful look at his playmate and took off in her direction, tongue lolling out of his mouth as he bounded over.

She smiled when Will poked his head out the door and informed her they were going to be late if they didn't hurry. He stared at her curiously when her smile grew into laughter. It was liberating, feeling so at peace with her life. It was going to be a good day. She could tell.

* * *

><p>She was adrift somewhere within her own thoughts as she had been all morning when she rounded the corner to spy on her husband and the Glee rehearsals he had been frustratingly tight-lipped about recently. First she was stopping by her office, to the filing cabinet behind her desk where she could store the papers she had just printed. The ones that seemed to be imprinting themselves upon her palm as if searing into her mind wasn't enough.<p>

Shannon was on her knees, bent over at the waist, the whistle that always hung about her neck thrown over her shoulder so it wouldn't dangle in the face of the blue-jean, sweatshirt clad form that lie in front of her, the nameless, motionless body that Emma was now running towards, because she _knew._

In those moments, drawn-out by adrenaline, the sickening lead weight that settled into her bones as her heels clacked harshly against the hall that stretched another eight miles with every step, she hated the morning and the way it was choosing to deceive her.

She fell to her knees, not even registering the sharp contact they made with the floor as Shannon's voice, authoritative and calm, out of place within the muted chaos in her own pounding thoughts, as she ordered a nearby football player to call nine-one-one. Without thinking she reached her hand out, her hand that was both hers and not hers as she seemed disconnected from her surroundings and right then, kneeling next to the student she had come to love like a son she understood why it had been so easy for her grandmother to brush the hair out of her dying daughter's eyes as she brushed the hair away from Scott's sweaty forehead and whispered that he would be okay the way she had heard her grandmother do.

"He collapsed, tried to catch himself on a locker." The coach informed but Emma's eyes were locked on the worn red traveling mug she had come to know so well, the scratches fueled by boredom in her husband's class that spelled out his name, as it rolled to the edge of the hall, the brown liquid trickling from the lid in a thin trail. For an instant, a second that existed outside of the present, she wondered what flavor it was.

"Ma'am" A large hand appeared on her shoulder and although she knew the owner would be wearing a uniform and undoubtedly that uniform designated a job, she wanted to swat it away. "Ma'am, you're going to have to move."

She stood up roughly, her legs functioning as though she had bent down for something as innocent cleaning up some spilled tea. Quickly she whirled on a young EMT busy setting up the stretcher. "I'm going with him." She said forcefully because she didn't want him to go alone and worse if something happened, she knew the importance of being able to say good-bye.

She wasn't going to make that mistake twice.

Emma lingered on the sidelines while they took his vitals and lifted him into the stretcher, the sirens blaring outside reminding her of the night she had overdosed as a teenager. "Go on. I'll let Will know." Shannon whispered, her arm wrapped around her shoulders and Emma placed one foot in front of the other, the way she had walking out of the church after her mother's funeral, and climbed into the ambulance.

As she took in the scene around her, the EMT that was informing an unconscious Scott of his every move as he kept re-taking vitals Emma realized that she was still clutching the papers. She didn't ask any questions, letting the irregular, slow tone that indicated his heart beat lull her into a sense of comfort that seemed on the verge of defining itself as fear.

* * *

><p>Time seemed to slow to an infantile crawl as she surveyed the waiting room around her. The waiting room that like the Intensive Care Unit in Virginia seemed to be designed to provide comfort where there was none. The chairs were a deep purple and the carpet, nonsense swirls at her feet, was short and easily cleanable; efficient. Magazines with interviews from celebrities that had died five years ago littered the small, wooden end tables.<p>

As she watched those waiting with her, for reasons she wasn't sure of, she noted that, they, just like her family had, seemed to be inexplicably tied to the coffee maker. Tied to the normalcy the drink afforded. It gave them something to occupy their mouths when they no longer wanted to converse, something to do with hands that felt useless and it kept them awake. Exactly what it had done in Virginia.

It was when she found herself heading for the coffee-maker because she had noticed the spout for tea next to it, that she could no longer question their behavior and as she made her way back to her seat, tucking her legs up underneath her, burning her tongue when she took a sip, she felt closer to him for it.

It tasted wrong.

She drank it anyways.

A familiar touch appeared on her shoulder and she glanced up to find his face, a haunting hybred of relief and sorrow peering down at her and suddenly the strength she had been drawing from was gone and as he lifted her up, wrapping her into a tight hug, folding her head beneath his chin as he simply held her, she gave in to the exhaustion she hadn't allowed herself to feel, and collapsed against him.

A rough sob escaped her lips as she moved her head, resting her cheek along the side of his arm, the fabric of his shirt gripped tightly within her fingers as tears she hadn't known she possessed slid down her cheeks.

The abrasive tone that indicated someone was coming through the large double doors sounded and Emma blinked away her tears, finding Scott's parents, his mother falling into his father's embrace just inside the doors. The woman's eyes caught hers from across the room and they smiled to each other, a reassuring smile, as she clung to husband, and Emma clung to hers.

Hastily she tried to dry her eyes wondering why she was making an attempt as the woman began to walk towards them, her face pained but grateful as she pulled Emma into a hug choking out her thanks for her not leaving her baby alone.

"It was a heart attack, a mild one." She added on as though the words were meant as much to assuage Emma as they were her. "They're probably going to move him tomorrow but he's staying here overnight just to be safe. I-" she started and ended a sentence Emma couldn't even guess at before her expression changed to one of gratitude. "He talks about you a lot. In fact, you're the reason we have so much tea." She sniffled then and Emma found herself caught between a laugh and a cry. What came out was more of a choked sob.

"He's going to be placed on a unit. They said he can have visitors after a few days." The woman informed her and Emma felt her heart sank at the thought of him on an eating disorder unit because like the man behind her had once confessed to her, she was realizing that she wasn't enough to save him.

Statistics she didn't want to apply to him, or herself, or anyone ran circles in her mind.

_In a ten to twenty-year follow up after initial onset, only half of the subjects were fully recovered._

_One-third were symptomatic albeit slightly improved._

_Twenty percent remained chronically ill._

While Emma watched his mother, her eyes reddened while her hands pleaded, talk with a doctor, her inner commentary continued.

_One in twenty of those diagnosed with anorexia; die._

_Anorexia Nervosa has the highest mortality rate of any psychiatric disorder. Higher than the suicide rate for Major Depression._

Somehow Scott's parents convinced the middle-aged man that Emma could go back. She couldn't go in the room, there were too many specialists going in and out but she could see him, and at that point, that was all she cared about.

She took a deep breath as she stepped into the white hallway, the glass-encased rooms with curtains drawn or pulled back depending, the glaring reflection of the hospital lights on the floor that for reasons she couldn't ascertain she felt compelled to stomp on as she neared room 204.

It was only a sliver that she could see through and the sight of him, lying in a hospital bed, his frame so tiny, the oxygen mask she had seen on her mother fogging over with his weak breaths, slammed into her with a force she wasn't prepared for and just like that, she was reliving the days that had lead up to her mother's death.

Her body felt useless as she trudged back to the double doors, remembering what it had been like when she had been gripping the white hospital bag filled with her mother's belongings and she hoped to God that Scottie's parents, because somewhere over the course of the day he had became that sign of affection within her mind, never had to do what she did.

As she wiped away a stray tear she thought back to the embrace that had been shared by her and Will, Scott's parents, in the waiting room. They had been standing the same way, in the same room, for the same reasons and suddenly she didn't have to worry that she wouldn't be able to care enough for a child, because she knew she could, because she already did.

"I'll talk to him." She whispered more to herself than the boy through the window. "Remember how you made me promise? I'll talk to him but you have to promise to be around so I can tell you about it, over a cup of tea." And she turned, heading down the hall with confidence because she felt safe in that promise, safe in the tomorrow's it demanded.

By the time she made it back to the car she was a wreck, not emotionally blunted as she had been after her mother's death, but emotionally exhausted from a day of waiting and Will's hand, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand as they drove home kept her grounded.

Will catered to her that night, forgoing Moritz' usual evening walk to cuddle with her on the couch occasionally imparting excerpts from a book on music that he was reading. She loved him even more for that, for carrying out their evening as though she hadn't just spent half the day at the hospital.

They fell asleep together, not bothering to move to the bed, her wrapped up in his arms with the dog lying half on top of her and the book, non-fiction traded for the fiction of slumber, open to page eighty-seven across his back.

* * *

><p><strong>Will's POV<strong>

He had intended to let her sleep in, to sleep off the emotional gauntlet of the day before but it was the smell of brewing coffee, that woke him up. Emma was singing softly under her breath when he entered the kitchen, noticing that Moritz was already running sprints with the neighbor's terrier in the backyard. Sometimes he felt those people, who had gotten a puppy for the idea of having one, only to ignore it weeks later, should pay them for exercising their dog.

"You are up way too early." He yawned, graciously accepting the mug of coffee she set in front of him. It was when he set the mug down that he noticed the crinkled papers he had shoved into his bag yesterday.

There were underline portions, high-lighted portions, and notes in the margins that even without his glasses he could identify as his wife's tidy script. Squinting through the morning haze that always seemed to cloud his vision he could make out the title.

_Pregnancy and Eating Disorders_

He paused mid-sip, reaching for his glasses to re-read what he knew was already in front of him.

"Will, I want to talk." Emma sat down across from him, her eyes never leaving his, and he was struck by the difference between this Emma and the one he had known for so long.

"The high-lighted parts are about getting pregnant when there is a history of eating disorders. The rest is about, "She paused, looking slightly uneasy, "eating disorders during pregnancy so we don't have to worry about that, but it's there in case you want it, and I'm sorry, I'm rambling." She cut herself off but he smiled anyways.

He read through the sections she had emphasized, learning that because of her history she was at a slightly elevated risk for post-partum depression as well as a relapse into the disorder. He also read that most mothers, more than half, had no eating disordered problems during their pregnancy, able to put the health of the baby first. Truthfully, he had never envisioned her as the type to endanger a child but he had seen her do a lot of things he had never envisioned. The biggest area for concern was going to be the weeks and months after the pregnancy when she would be dealing with motherhood and excess weight and it was suggested that they have a team of health care professionals lined up, just in case.

Vaguely he wondered what had prompted her to bring this up now, after everything with Scott, but on more than one occasion he had witnessed her acting motherly towards the young man and either way, it was out in the open now. He didn't expect to feel so relieved about that.

"You've put a lot of thought into this." He commented, motioning to the papers.

"Yes." She answered, her voice perched on the edge of hesitant hopefulness the way her body was perched on the edge of her chair.

"I just want to talk about it. We don't have to do anything, or not do anything." She glanced down her mouth opening for what he was sure was going to be a nervous energy fueled speech.

"Okay," Reaching across the table he took her hand in his with a small smile, "Okay" he repeated when she looked back at him adding emphasis to convey that he wasn't adverse to this. "Let's talk."

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><p>AN: I hope this chapter didn't disappoint, and thank you very much for your gracious reviews! They keep me writing!


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: My schedule is going to start picking up soon but don't worry I won't abandon this. I've invested too much. Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Chapter Six<strong>

**Emma's POV**

As her hand closed around the handle of the driver's side door she took a deep breath, preparing herself for the world she was about to transition into as soon as she stepped through the double doors across the parking lot. A more structured, adolescent-focused parallel to the one she had visited for three months.

It had taken the doctors a bit longer than originally anticipated to stabilize Scott and he had remained in the hospital for a week. Once he was transferred to an intensive in-patient program they had not allowed visitors for the first couple weeks and although Emma understood their motives it hadn't stopped her from ranting to Will one night that she just wanted to speak with her friend.

The rooms were brighter than the rooms on the unit she had been on, designed to seem cheery and care-free. To the outsider it would appear they were doing their job and the environment was pleasant but to an insider, someone nervously awaiting each meal, knowing they were gaining weight and torn between wanting that and wanting to go back to their old life, she knew that lime green pillows and an abstract painting of an unidentifiable shape colored with varying shades of purple and blue wouldn't really make that big of a difference.

"Over here!" A voice called out as soon as she set foot in the spacious commons room, open in the center with chairs and tables lining the walls.

He was sitting in an overly cushioned blue chair, somehow appearing more fragile in the street clothes in this place than he ever had at school. His hair was unkempt, falling into his eyes at odd angles and his lips were chapped though smothered with chap-stick but he was smiling, truly smiling.

His body was slight against hers as he wrapped her up in a loose hug she hadn't been expecting. He had never been one to openly display affection. She felt honored that he would entrust her with such a thing. He had once admitted his father wasn't big on hugs and she had caught the hurt in his eyes before he hid it behind a sip of tea.

For a moment she faltered with her words. 'How are you?' seemed contrite and commenting on the décor of his temporary housing seemed superfluous. Instead, while she marveled at the sensation of being the person visiting the ward instead of being on it, she dug through her purse for the packets of tea she had made Will stop at the store for on the first night Scott had been hospitalized.

"You brought it." He mused, his voice infused with an incredulous timbre that undermined the admiration he was trying to conceal.

"Shh," Emma smiled, exhaling over the index finger she raised to her lips "I snuck it in."

His eyes narrowed, slits of laughter upon his emaciated face and his lips curved into a wry grin, beckoning a giggle to spill forth from her own lips. "Okay, so maybe I called ahead and asked." She confessed, standing up to locate two unmarked Styrofoam cups and hot water from where the coffee maker would have been on the adult unit.

Some things were the same. The drawers still had locks, a jarring reminder to anyone who wanted to forget where they were.

Scott was waiting with a black sharpie when she returned and in his angular print he spelled first his name and then hers across the side of the cups. Emma stared at the writing, the pointed tips of the m's that comprised her identity to the world, comparing it mentally with the rounded m's of her own script and the hurried ones of Will's. Everyone wrote her name differently, everyone wrote her differently and sometimes she wished she could see herself through someone else's writing.

"There was a girl back on the hospital ward with really bad OCD. There were other things wrong but she kept thinking the word 'death' when she walked through the door and then she would have to go back and do it over again thinking 'life' to cancel out death. It was weird, and yet I understood it." Scott paused, thumbing the tag that dangled a few centimeters from the edge of his cup. "I was the only anorexic and no one understood that, understood me." Carefully he brought the cup to his lips, inhaling the scent that occasionally tickled her nose from her own cup, his lips pulling into a smile.

"Orange," he said in a contemplative manner, closing his eyes as though he wanted the drops to forget their obligations and linger on his tongue.

She was grateful he had set the tone of their conversation because she hadn't known where to place it, if they would talk about serious things as they usually did or light-hearted things. In a way she was relieved that their relationship dynamic wasn't changing even given where they were.

"I always find it refreshing." She commented, her own thoughts about being out of place as an adolescent on a ward lining with his. "People often think they have an understanding of OCD because everyone has bothersome thoughts they can't get rid of now and then. They, of course, really have no idea what it's like but it's that connection they feel they have that has given it a place in casual conversation. "

Briefly she took a sip of her tea, letting it sit in her mouth before swallowing, continuing with a sentiment she had kept to herself for years. "I get why they say it and maybe I should give them points for creativity but I hate it when people use OCD as a turn of phrase."

"Don't be so OCD." Scott said softly, with an air of realization coupled first with a grin and then with a frown as though he were remembering times spoken that way to a friend.

"It's really awkward when you actually have OCD and then you think they are talking to you.'" Emma smiled, dabbing at a drop of tea that she had been watching journey down the side of her cup, purposefully not touching it until it hit the table because doing so before would have been giving into a compulsion that she was determined to prove, could wait.

That was the difference really. The line between obsessive compulsion and troublesome thought and it had taken her years of therapy to get to the side of the line she was currently standing on.

Now and again when she was very stressed out about work or something that once put into perspective, really didn't matter, she would catch herself engaging in some old behavior. The thing that made it horrible is that once it started, even given all the therapy, it was still almost impossible to stop until the compulsion was completed. She could do it now, force herself to walk away, but she paid dearly by spending the next few hours persuading herself not to go back and finish.

She had heard Will make the comment she had just imparted to Scott once. At a Glee rehearsal he had invited her to attend shortly after they had started dating. Rachel had been on the verge of tearing Finn to pieces over some footwork in a dance and Will, trying to relieve the tension, had jokingly told the group that perhaps she was a little OCD. Everyone had laughed, and he had restored the balance he had been searching for. Emma had laughed to, but only for appearance's sake. Maybe it wasn't fair, that she grew uncomfortable when someone made such a comment, but long ago she had decided that if anyone had the right to feel put off by it, it was those with the disorder. Will had surprised her by approaching her after he had finally gotten rid of Rachel, suggested set-list in hand, and apologized for what he had said. Apparently he had noticed her reaction. She had never heard him use that term or any variation on it again and once she had overheard him politely correcting Puck's speech in the hallway between classes and his effort, all of it, made her feel cherished.

"They asked everyone to write down what their 'one food' was, you know, the one thing that despite it all you wish you could eat." He laughed then, bitterly, sadly, and informed her that his paper was still blank because writing it felt like permission.

God, she remembered that. Staring at a blank page when the question, theoretically, was so simple a child could have answered one hundred times over in the time it had taken her to place the pen against the paper.

She thought only for a second before grabbing a nearby napkin and the sharpie he had finally stopped rolling back and forth along the surface of the table.

After all the time, writing it was still easier than saying it.

_Pizza_

He nodded almost in agreement as he read and quickly added something at the bottom before sliding it back.

_Do it:)_

Grinning she shrugged, not committing either way, remembering how easy it had been for her to encourage others to eat when she had been sick and she wondered if he was feeling the satisfaction she had often felt knowing that they were about to consume something she wouldn't touch or if he was feeling the sadness that had set in later, the longing for something that others didn't think twice about.

Snatching up the napkin again, lid between his teeth, he added more to their silent exchange, and with four simple words she knew what he was feeling.

_Eat one for me._

"Okay." She agreed, elated at what he had just revealed, the step forward he probably wasn't aware he had taken.

"Did you talk to him?" Scott questioned and for an instant Emma wondered if he had been able to hear her that day in the hospital until she remembered the afternoon where he had stumbled across the papers sitting next to her purse.

Perhaps the conversation should have been inappropriate but her relationship with this young man, so grown up for his age, transcended a lot of boundaries.

"We're going to try." She left it that, not seeing the need to inform Scott that they weren't going to actively try, but they were, and had since the night of their conversation, stopped using birth control.

A nurse interrupted whatever he had been planning to say, politely asking for his name and date of birth before scanning the bar code on his armband and depositing pills into the palm of his waiting hand. She tried not to stare, but she was fascinated by the way he so easily accepted the medication, downing them with the little cup of water the nurse provided as if they were nothing. She envied that, his innocence that wasn't really innocence because of the reason he was here.

That got her thinking about her own medication, the _Abilify _that she would have to stop taking before her third trimester if she got pregnant because it had been linked with complications at birth. Will had taken the advice of her print-outs to heart and they had made an appointment with her general practitioner to discuss, quite bluntly, getting pregnant when there was a history of eating disorders. The relief that had flooded through her when he had mentioned that there were now medications she could take while pregnant had been shared by Will, who had lovingly squeezed her hand and smiled.

Realizing Will would have been back from Glee rehearsal for almost a half hour she bade Scott good-bye, tucking the napkin into her purse, feeling more at ease than she would have thought about leaving him even though she didn't look back, because that would have been too hard and just like that she understood why Will had done the same.

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><p><strong>Will's POV<strong>

He purposefully ignored her when he heard the patio door slide open focused on getting the retriever in front of him to back up without him having to move forwards. Propped up against the chain-link fence Will placed a treat in the grass just behind his feet set shoulder-width apart and waited for the dog to venture forward for the morsel. After gobbling up the treat Moritz took a step backwards to look back up at Will and it was during that step backwards that Will clicked and fed him another treat. So far they were making progress and he wasn't going to get distracted now, not when he finally had the hyperactive dog's attention.

A mischievous giggle followed by something soft bouncing off of the top of his head only to fall to the ground a few feet away where Moritz, oblivious to his command to leave it delightedly took off with what he could now tell by the series of rapid-fire squeaks, was a dog toy.

"Dinner's ready you two." Emma called out, leaning partially over the railing on the patio, her hair ruffling slightly in the breeze as she smiled down at him.

The red object Moritz had been displaying to the neighbor's terrier through the fence landed at his feet and Emma laughed when he kicked it over, unable to tell what it was.

"You got him a mutant ladybug?" Will questioned his wife who only shrugged and mentioned that it was on clearance, and that she thought it would look cute.

"Cute? Bud, don't play with that. She's ganging up on us." He told the burly dog currently nudging at the toy with his nose with the enthusiasm of a true retriever then staring stepping back a few feet to stare the toy down in a manner that would have made a Border Collie proud.

Noticing a chance for good training, he waited for the dog to step back one more time and ate his own words for the sake of Moritz' and a potential breakthrough, hurtling the insect across the yard.

"This is degrading isn't it?" He intoned cheerfully as Moritz rocketed back to him, chomping away as he did so, his eyes glossed over and squinty in the universal picture of doggy delight.

"Says the man who enters his dog in beauty pageants." Emma deadpanned just loud enough that he heard her, her accent creeping in on the 'r' of enter.

Feigning shock Will dropped his mouth open to stare in surprise at the dog, and then in mock anger at Emma.

"We can't let her get away with that can we?" He asked the dog in question, giving in one last time to his endless drive to retrieve before turning and racing to the bottom of the patio steps, pausing to grin evilly at his wife, attempting to play innocent.

He bounded up the steps in two strides, trapping her between him and the railing, unsuccessfully trying to resist the laughter that had already overcome her.

"Uh-oh" He whispered with a triumphant smile. "Look at the dog."

Emma glanced out into the yard her features falling. "Moritz!"

Will snorted, watching as the dog momentarily shifted his focus from the toy, clumps of stuffing now strewn about in a ten foot radius, to her, and transformed into a mass of wriggling glee. He side-winded towards them a few feet and then plopped onto his stomach with a huff, stretching his powerful back legs out behind him as he contentedly resumed what he had been doing before what to him, was probably a rather fruitless interruption.

"See, he was offended." Will couldn't help but point out while Emma shook her head and mumbled something he didn't catch about clearanced-out dog toys.

Following her inside, leaving the dog to his destruction, Will came to an abrupt stop as soon as the door slid closed behind him; his nose registering what dinner was before his eyes spied the evidence on the table.

"You ordered pizza." He looked up at Emma, worrying her bottom lip, appearing only slightly nervous before she broke out into a grin.

"Surprised?" She asked, her eyes hopeful and excited.

"Yes," He moved towards her, wrapping his arms around her waist, kissing her briefly before pulling away. "Thank you."

It was more than a thank you. They both knew that but they let it remain those simple words on the surface. The last time he had eaten pizza was a stolen slice at a faculty function. It was, to his knowledge, the last unsafe food on her list that she hadn't conquered and he hadn't pushed her. Their first night in their new house they had eaten sandwiches instead of ordering pizza like almost every other family he knew and he had been okay with that. Once, while Emma had been in treatment, he had gone out to a Pizza Hut with Shannon but declined bringing home the left-over's because he didn't want to make her uncomfortable. He hadn't realized until the smell hit him just how much he had missed what had been a staple in his life since college.

It had taken very little convincing for Emma to let him carry the box into the living room and although he was using a paper towel she had grabbed a plate. They sat on the couch, a wooden tray supporting the box, trading thoughts on the current rerun of Glee.

"It's a good moral Will, be who you are. You should have your kids 'go gaga.'" She emphasized the term in the same ridiculous manner the teacher on the show had, making claws out of her hands and for a moment she sounded serious enough that he turned to look at her, the smirk behind her piece of pizza giving her away.

Not dignifying her comment with a remark he reached out for another slice of pizza, his third to her second. For the briefest of seconds he caught a familiar flicker of hesitation in her eyes when she grabbed another piece and it pained him that it was something that might always be there, lurking.

They finished before the episode was to the half-way point and Will pretended not to notice that Emma had scooted closer to him somewhere in that time. The same way he was pretending not to notice her hand flat against his chest or her breath tickling his ear.

When she whispered that she could change his mind and began to leave kisses on his neck he stopped pretending.

Her hands slid under his shirt, roving across his skin as he crashed his mouth into hers, pulling her against him, and loving the fact that she had started this. She was stretched out on top of him, her hips rocking ever so slightly against his as they kissed and she pulled away just long enough to remove the shirt he had been starting to toy with, peering down at him with a grin that wasn't nervous or hesitant, but seductive and intoxicating.

He moaned when her skin connected with his wondering why he didn't remember removing his own shirt and met her hips with a groan, wanting her to feel what she was doing.

He had been intending to reach for the waist band of her pants when she sat up; leveling him with a smirk and then an innocent expression that belied the hand that was resting lightly over the bulge in his pants. Slowly she trailed her hand over him, pressing downward before retracting her hand as quickly as she had retracted her body.

"Idina's part is coming up!" She exclaimed as though she were a star-struck teenager forcing her begrudging parent to watch, as though she hadn't just been doing what she had been.

"You've got to be kidding me." He whined, glaring at the brunette that had stolen his wife's affection.

He attempted to recapture her attention with kisses to her shoulder but earned nothing save a giggle and a light shove towards his side of the couch.

When she tried to restart things, when the Broadway veteran wasn't on screen, he only feigned indifference knowing full well what was going to be occurring as soon as the credits rolled because he was still aroused and he could see it in her eyes, that she wanted him.

It was thrilling, making love to her knowing that if the timing was right, they could create a child.

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><p><strong>Emma's POV<strong>

With a determined sigh Emma trudged into the kitchen wanting only to crawl back into the warm, inviting bed she had hauled herself out of over an hour ago. Will was already bustling about and her morning tea was sitting next to her cereal bowl, one of the bowls she had used countless times for oatmeal.

A bright green square on the calendar hanging next to the fridge caught her eye. Today was the day Scott was supposed to get out of treatment. She couldn't believe he had been there a month. If all went according to what he had told her on their last visit he was going to be moved to an intensive out-patient program that would meet in the evenings and on weekends so he wouldn't have to miss more school.

She knew that was going to be hard, transitioning back to the real world. It had been hell for her and she was an adult woman with a compassionate group of coworkers knowing why she had been gone, not an adolescent teenage boy returning to the questioning stares of peers he didn't even know. The news of his hospitalization had spread like wild-fire through the halls of McKinley, something she hadn't figured out how to tell him yet but she had a feeling he knew. He was a smart boy, mature for his age.

She was partially through her bowl of cheerios when she noticed it. The uneasiness in her stomach that she had assumed was hunger before she started eating that was still there, leaving her awash in a sea of memories and fear.

Suddenly she was back to agonizing days of getting her body used to more food than it had been given in a week. Back to the unfamiliar, uncomfortable, threatening tightness in her belly that meant she had eaten and she jumped up, placing one arm protectively about her middle as though somehow her own touch could make it go away.

"I feel sick! Why do I feel sick? I'm not supposed to feel sick! This isn't supposed to happen anymore. I'm normal now…" She trailed off struck by the profundity behind her statement wondering when she had begun to see herself as something other than a woman with, or recovering from, an eating disorder.

Will stood up slowly, concern etched across his face as he asked what was wrong.

"I don't like feeling sick. It makes me think of _being _sick." She was breathing faster, growing agitated at the knot in her stomach that only seemed to be increasing in size.

He paused then, his head tilting to the side the way it always did when he was curious or lost in thought and carefully he crossed over to her, his body inches from hers.

"Emma, calm down. What if it's not about the food?" He questioned her gently, his hands coming to rest lightly on her upper arms, one raising up to cup her cheek while let his words sink in.

Her eyes widened, her glance dropping to her stomach only to travel back to his face. "Oh…oh gosh." She whispered, embarrassed at her panicked reaction.

It had just been so terrifying, feeling queasy after eating such a simple breakfast. Her first thought had been about all of the times she had thrown up to try and get rid of that sensation. The two sensations she had worked hard to learn to differentiate between; the difference between feeling full and feeling sick. Somewhere to her mind they had become the same thing and that had been one of the most challenging things to overcome. Usually she had to tell herself that she was full, not sick. This morning she had been sick, but not full. She wasn't used to having to work through the problem backwards.

"Morning is the best time." She commented more to herself than him, picturing the three boxes of pregnancy tests still sitting in plastic bag she had brought them home in weeks ago, in the cupboard of the bathroom.

Taking them out of the bag would have colored what she told herself was simply being prepared.

"I'll wait out here okay?"

It was the hint of hope in his eyes, the hushed way in which he had spoken that had her moving down the hall, stepping into the bathroom and closing the door quietly behind her.

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><p><strong>Will's POV<strong>

Restlessly Will surveyed the living room practically lunging to straighten the blanket across the back of the couch that was already straight. He glanced down at the dog, lazily lounging on the floor in the kitchen and impulsively lobbed the limp body of his lady bug down the hall only to lose interest before the dog had even dropped it at his feet.

Mumbling a half-hearted apology to the retriever for ignoring the game he had started Will flopped himself down on the couch, turning on and then flicking off the television before the image had even appeared on the screen.

"And I told her to calm down. This is ridiculous." He told Moritz, running his hands through his hair while forcing himself to lean back against the couch.

Any pretense that he was relaxed was curtailed by the way he launched to his feet as soon as the door creaked open a quarter of an inch.

His eyes fell on Emma, lingering for a moment on her stomach and suddenly he realized just how wrong everything with Terri had really been. He had been excited for the baby then, hinging his hope for how it might mend their marriage on the child that had never existed. This was a different kind of excitement. This was real.

"I didn't want to look without you." She smiled, her features anxiously nervous yet beautiful and he was by her side in an instant, removing the test from her hand, following her back into the bathroom where he carefully set it on the counter.

"Emma, whatever it says," he turned to face her, dropping his hands to her waist. "Sweetie I'm so proud of you and even if you're not I know that someday you will be."

She rotated in his arms, pressing her back into his chest and he wrapped his arms gently around her waist, propping his chin on her shoulder; staring, waiting on their future.

They both flinched when her phone beeped indicating the time was up.

Separate but together they moved forward, peering over the edge of the counter as though they were physically afraid to get any closer and he wasn't sure about her, but he read the display twice.

_Pregnant_

Never before had a Liquid Crystal Display conveyed more about his future than it was right now with that one word. Something Emma had once said about the brain seeing what it wanted to see popped into his head and he read it again.

Yes, still pregnant.

"We can do this right?" She backed away from the counter slightly, her face contorting with a hesitant fear he wished more than anything he could take away, so she could just exist in the moment as he was.

"Of course we can do this." He whispered, cupping her cheek with his palm, smiling into her eyes and earning the unbridled grin he had been waiting for in return. "Look at all we've done already."

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><p>AN: I hope you enjoyed the light-heartedness. I have to credit my own dog for the lady bug incident. It was his birthday toy and it was destroyed within five minutes. *sigh*

I'm excited for Will and Emma, for this journey they are going to be taking together. Please let me know what you think! A huge thank you to the people who read and review! You make the world a better place!


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Okay I confess, I'm playing with the time line a bit. I was trying to keep some semblance of real time and push things towards winter but I was out on this great bike ride today in the warm sun and the idea of writing winter just sounded depressing. So it's no longer moving towards winter...for the moment.

I probaby should have stayed quiet. I never notice weather in other people's fics.

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><p><strong>Chapter Seven<strong>

**Emma's POV**

Washing her hands in the middle of the night while the toilet flushed was becoming a pattern Emma was quickly forgetting a time without. She was fairly certain that for the majority of her life she had successfully navigated the night without waking to a demanding bladder but as she blinked wearily into her reflection, wondering what Will would say if he found her asleep against the mirror, she was foggy on the details of such an existence.

Carefully she placed her hands over her stomach, rotating her body to the side, trying to imagine what she might look like at nine months pregnant and resisting the urge to check for visible evidence of the life growing inside her that she knew wasn't there yet.

She was nervous and excited about starting to show. Nervous because she didn't know how she would receive it and excited because then what they were doing, the family they were creating, would seem so much more real.

Her stomach growled as she blindly flicked the light off and she paused mid-step unsure of what to do. Indecisiveness gripped her in the doorway of the bathroom and she unconsciously rubbed at her stomach as if trying to caress the sensation away. This wasn't the first night this had happened, or even the first day. Her appetite had been increasing for the past few days, manifesting at weird times that she didn't feel comfortable eating at. So, up until now she had tried to ignore it. Tonight however she knew she wouldn't be able to fall back to sleep.

It was so much more than a hunger pain.

It was something that had first been categorized as a threat and then proof that she was succeeding and finally, somewhere in there, it rolled back around to what it was supposed to be; her body's signal that she needed food. Or in this case, her body adapting to the demands being placed on her body by her unborn child.

Mentally picturing the hallway she was standing in she turned for the kitchen only to stop after one step, frozen as if someone had taken a picture. It would have been an apt picture, showing how she was able to war with herself no matter the circumstance.

It was three in the morning. She hadn't eaten at three in the morning in over a year. At one point eating after eight in the evening had been unthinkable. Eight had morphed into five and for so long she had dwindled away her evenings with flavored teas and books.

This was something she hadn't ever thought to address, wanting food in the middle of the night. It had been unacceptable for so long that the idea really hadn't entered her mind, until now. In the darkness her thoughts seemed even more intrusive, pressured.

_I can't go eat at three in the morning. That's ridiculous. It's only a few hours. I should wait until morning. Sleeping takes hunger pains away. Maybe I could eat something, something small. After all this is just because the baby is growing. It's not like it will become a habit. I don't know what to eat. This feels wrong. It's been so long since I've done this. How do I do this?_

With a frustrated sigh she turned again, padding into the bedroom, over to Will's side of the bed. He never woke when she did anymore and she envied that.

"Will," Carefully Emma shook his shoulder, mentally apologizing for interrupting his sleep for something most people probably would have taken care of by now.

"Hmm?" He mumbled, trying to turn over and she considered letting him until she thought about going into the kitchen by herself at three in the morning.

"What is it? Is something wrong?" He sat up quickly, reaching out for her in the darkness. Trying to reassure him she placed a hand over his.

"Not anything serious." She began, unable to say that everything was alright because in her mind it wasn't. "I'm um, I'm really hungry," Emma backed up as he crawled out of bed, like she was withdrawing from her words. "I feel weird getting food right now and I was wondering if maybe you would get some too?"

As soon as she said she felt ridiculous. Waking her husband up when they both had work in the morning because raiding the fridge felt foreign and reeked vaguely of one binge-episode where she had literally sat in front of the fridge shoveling whatever food she could find into her mouth in a panicked rush. She hadn't bought real groceries in months, most of the shelves were just that, shelves, but her body had been so desperate for any form of sustenance that wasn't the oatmeal she been subsisting on that it hadn't mattered. It never mattered at that point.

She had downed half a bottle of Italian dressing, drinking it like a bottle of water.

That was something she had never told Will about. There were a lot of crazed low points she had never discussed with him, feeling that he had seen enough over the course of their relationship.

"Come on," his hands were on her shoulders, a fleeting comfort before he turned the hall light on, turning back to her with a compassionate expression overpowering the sleep still tugging at his features. "Let's go get some food."

Emma mouthed the shy thank you she couldn't find the voice for and followed her husband.

Standing in the kitchen with Will, the dim light above the stove bathing the room in a golden hue was significantly less daunting than it would have been had it only been her and for a moment she was reminded of sugar-infused slumber parties in grade school when her and a few select friends had snuck into her mother's kitchen for the candy always kept in the bread box next to the stove. Vaguely Emma wondered if she would ever be that care-free again.

Will yawned, stretching his arms over his head before scanning the room. "Graham crackers?" He questioned, eyeing the box she had picked up a few days ago but not touched.

She nodded, sitting down at the table while Will fetched the box and a plate, plopping a decent-sized pile between them. This wasn't so bad. This was nothing like that night had been and Emma hoped that in the future if midnight hunger struck again she wouldn't have to wake him.

"You know, I want some hot chocolate," Will looked contemplative as he chewed his first bite of cracker. "With marsh mellows and cinnamon. You want some?" He popped the rest of the cracker into his mouth, asking as though this was something they did every night.

She loved him even more for that.

Offering because she was there, not complaining that his alarm would be going off in a few hours even though she knew he had only been asleep for roughly two because he had still been up, Spanish essays scattered across the table, glasses perched on the end of his nose, red pen in hand when she had turned in.

His back was to her, boiling water on the stove the way he had often spoke of his mother doing when he was a boy when he voiced what had probably been on his mind since she had shaken him awake.

"Don't try to ignore it if you feel hungry okay? I swear I don't care what time it is if it makes you uncomfortable come get me. It just means that our baby is growing." He finished softly, the bright orange burner visible when he shifted his weight drawing her attention every time.

Something about the moment, the forbidden component of being awake and partaking in hot chocolate compelled her to revisit pieces of her past she hadn't told anyone.

"Sometimes I couldn't sleep because I was so hungry. I would raid the cupboards for something, anything to take that feeling away." She mused, allowing her mind to transport her back to a different kitchen, a different night, a different life. "I remember sitting in front of the fridge eating spoonfuls of jelly from jars I hadn't touched for months. I used to eat little handfuls of uncooked noodles from those bags of flavored pasta. The powder gave them flavor. At the time I really didn't think about how weird that was."

He glanced over his shoulder at her, his face saddened, eyebrows knitted together by an emotion she couldn't place. She wondered how her confession sounded to him. It sounded like the plight of a desperate soul to her.

A warn emerald mug appeared in front of her, the hot chocolate still swirling from him stirring in the cinnamon and she smiled when he dropped four marsh mellows in. It was something she had teased him about, always four.

The wind picked up outside, the sweet scent of chocolate, more vivid than she had ever known it to be, filled the room and Moritz appeared in the entryway, his tail wagging expectantly at the tip.

"Come 'ere." She called out softly, plucking a marsh mellow out of her mug and holding it next to the ground giggling at Will who was pretending to be annoyed at her actions, but she had seen him sneak food to the dog before when he thought she wasn't looking.

The retriever sniffed at the object in her hand, inhaling twice only to exhale forcefully, the air moist against her hand. He licked it once, swiping his tongue across his nose immediately after as dogs do, smearing a bit of soggy marsh mellow on his nose as he did so.

Emma laughed, Will joining in as the dog plopped onto his rear, his nose in the air as he frantically tried to lick away the substance on his tongue couldn't quite reach. He paused then, staring at them with an almost indignant expression and wandered out of the room still flicking the air with his tongue.

"I can still see him." Will commented, leaning back so that he could look around the corner. "He can't get it. Poor guy." When he turned back to her his face expression was serious, cautious, as though he wasn't sure about what he was going to say. "Promise me that you will eat when you feel hungry. It doesn't have to be a meal. Maybe we can get some granola bars or something, just promise me."

For an instant she remembered a time, before he had learned what was really going on, when he had made her promise that she would eat lunch, leaning against the door frame in her office, his expression concerned but not overly so. That was the last time he had ever made her promise, gentle guidance from Kristen suggesting that he maybe not use that word because it would only magnify her guilt if she didn't keep it.

That was then. This was now. And she was a different person now. She was pregnant with their child.

"I promise." She smiled back at him, taking a bite of a cracker as she did so. "Thank you for eating with me."

"Anytime." He grinned as the tone in that one word indicated just how serious he was despite his ensuing quip about their child needing to reset their internal clock because their midnight snack was three hours late.

* * *

><p>Squinting into the sun despite her sunglasses Emma leveled her most imposing glare into the open-mouthed grin of the retriever who was gradually working himself into an adorable state of distress that only increased every time she refused to propel his deflated, yet beloved, ladybug toy across the yard.<p>

"No more," She commented catching herself before she went on to needlessly explain that she had already been lobbing the stuffed bug for over an hour because the attention would only encourage the dog's antics.

He wasn't misbehaving, not really. As far as dogs went he wasn't exceedingly pushy but in the past Emma had made the mistake of giving in to his nudges and intense stares where he seemed to be attempting mind control and she was paying for it now.

For the past few weeks all she had wanted to do was crawl into bed so tonight, while Will went to a conference for Glee instructors that she had been invited to but declined, she was catching up on the exhaustion that was exhausting her with a glass of lemonade and a short story Jeanette Winterson's _The_ _Twenty-Four Hour Dog_ that had been recommended by a friend.

All she wanted to do was get lost in the wording that had captivated her from the first sentence.

All the dog wanted to do was retrieve like a mindless zealot.

Something, she mused, wasn't adding up.

"He was soft as Rainwater." Will's voice appeared behind her, mimicking the words she had read a dozen times over, followed by a hand on her shoulder as he leaned down to kiss the top of her head. "I'm going to go. Call me if you need anything. Anything." He emphasized before, bending down to pick up the toy the dog had finally given up on and chucking it out into the yard before she could stop him.

She was going to complain that she had finally gotten the dog to chill out when she caught the smirk in his tone as he disappeared back into the house and told her to enjoy her book.

"He threw it not me!" She fruitlessly explained to Moritz who dropped the slobber doused fabric right on top of the book she felt like using on Will that was sitting in her lap. "Will." She groaned under her breath vowing to get him back as she gave in completely and forced herself to stand, and purposefully sending the toy two inches to her left.

The dog only stared at her, as if he thought he deserved better.

"If her dog has a head like a question mark you have one like an exclamation point." She muttered, still longing for the world of words and phrases her own dog of unknown hours was forcing her to leave for another day.

She jumped when she saw Will grinning at her through the patio door.

"I forgot to say good-bye." He mouthed as he opened the door, stepping back out into the sun, looking dressed for school in slacks, a sweater vest and a long-sleeved button down. "Wife," he mumbled kissing her softly on the cheek before dropping down on one knee to softly kiss her stomach through the fabric of her shirt. "Baby," he said, his voice softer, washed in a quiet respect she adored.

Moritz seeing his number one person at his level happily discarded his toy and bounded over, pressing his nose into Will's cheek and licking him once. Emma cringed but Will only chuckled. "Dog." He drew out slowly and scratched him behind the ear, thankfully forgoing the same display of affection he had bestowed upon her.

He was gone then, for the second time, leaving Emma grinning to herself, one hand resting over the place on her belly where his lips had been.

With a sigh she forced her aching body out into the yard, aimlessly meandering through the grass careful to watch for doggy land mines as Will called them.

"I have sun tea, if you want some." A voice with a familiar unidentifiable accent rang out and Emma turned to find Amanda leaning against her side of the fence, a pitcher of sun tea sitting on a table on her own patio. "I would offer you coffee but I'm thinking that would be a no go because I don't have any decaf. Unless he kisses your stomach every time he says good-bye." She grinned, wrinkling her nose, her eyes more vibrant that Emma had ever seen as she quickly pulled her hair back. "I've heard of some weird fetishes though so maybe I shouldn't judge."

Emma found herself laughing along, smiling to herself as she thought about the woman's words and how Will had probably paid more attention to her stomach, including kisses and caresses, than most spouses.

"I'm pregnant." She confirmed still getting a certain thrill out of saying the words, knowing that they applied to her.

At school Shannon had nearly dropped the sandwich she had been working her way through and had given Will a high-five followed by a bone-crushing hug that she could tell by his expression had taken him off guard. Her own hug from the coach had been much gentler. And she had pulled her chair out before she sat down. It was a shame more people couldn't see past her appearance. She had a heart of gold.

Sue had somehow caught wind of the news before she had found her surrounded by the latest trophies from the cheerleading season. She had noticed that Sue didn't dust the objects as much as she once did. She was relaxing into herself more and the hug and heart-felt congratulations that had been mixed with a sadness Emma assumed was for her own lost child-bearing years showed just how far the woman had come. She was still Sue though, and Will had endured numerous genetics-themed hair jokes, all with a smile.

"No more running around without a bra anymore," Amanda quipped with a friendly grin, training her eyes directly on Emma's. "That probably sounded weird. I only say that because I sometimes forget to wear a bra you know, you _understand." _Emma paused, transfixed by the woman's stare, by the emphasis on that word that had been so slight that someone else would have definitely missed it.

Emma understood. She understood perfectly.

Even when she had been at her lowest weight she had always worn a bra to work, training bras meant for adolescents, but a bra nonetheless. In the comfort of her own apartment she had often neglected to wear one because she had loved the knowledge that she was small enough, she could get by without it.

Breasts had been fat deposits marring her progress and a bra had been merely an article of clothing designed to support that fat. Yes, she understood.

She hadn't spoken much with Amanda, only a few words exchanged in the morning before they all left for work but she had learned quickly that the young woman often spoke her mind, coming up with the oddest observations about things Emma never thought twice about but always ended up contemplating later.

Amanda motioned to the tea and Emma made her way out of her yard and into her neighbor's telling the dog, ladybug in mouth, to be good.

"Does it bother you? That you are going to gain weight?" The brunette asked as she poured the iced beverage into a transparent glass. "Sometimes I think pregnant woman look…" She trailed off, her mouth abruptly closing as what she was going to say, and the state of who she was going to say it to, sunk in.

"I used to think that." Emma jumped in eager to convey that she wasn't offended. "I used to think they looked fat." She finished the statement so there was no confusion before taking a sip and sighing. "It's funny but as you gain weight suddenly people don't look so heavy anymore. When I was really sick I remember following this person through the mall angry at how much skinnier they were than me and then their mom walked over. That girl must have been twelve, maybe."

Amanda nodded, comprehension flashing through her eyes as she tucked her long, slender legs beneath her body in the oversized chair.

"I have to get rid of my running shoes." She commented in a defeated yet determined tone. "Well, I'm supposed to hide them but I know that won't work." She admitted and Emma could tell that piece of knowledge probably came first hand.

Glancing over Emma caught sight of the black and white tennis shoes just inside the patio door, sleek and modern looking, far too new in appearance for the miles they probably had logged.

"You must have been great at hide and seek." Emma joked, tilting her head in the direction of the shoes and Amanda's face broke into a smile.

"I was the best." She said, popping the 't', leaving Emma thinking that she probably was, that she probably tried to be the best at a lot of things. Like anorexia.

"I'm worried about the weight gain." Emma picked up their earlier topic before Amanda's divergence revealing that although she was scared of that aspect, she was determined to put her baby's health first.

They chatted amiably for another hour, the sun beginning to sink into the horizon seeming to zap the last of her already drained reserves out of her body. Agreeing to do this again soon Emma stopped just before she stepped onto the first step.

Wordlessly she turned and walked over to the patio door, sliding it open and picking up the shoes that sat just inside it, waiting until she was standing in the grass, peering up at Amanda, before speaking.

"I'll take these then."

The woman didn't say anything but Emma could see it in her eyes, her attempt not to cry, the silent 'thank you' that was deafening. Returning to Moritz, snoozing inches away from his toy, she carried the shoes inside and deposited them in the trash knowing that even if Amanda one day got to a point in her treatment where they were allowing her to exercise she would never go back to the same shoes unless she was going back to the disorder. Emma wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt.

She hadn't been able to do it either, throw away her scale. Her equivalent of the running shoes that would go to the dump tomorrow morning.

* * *

><p>It was eight in the evening and Will still hadn't gotten home. He hadn't been sure what time he would get in but as Emma fidgeted on the couch, trying anything she could think of to distract herself from the sensation between her legs, she found that she really wanted him, his hands, mouth, and kisses to leave early and come home to her.<p>

She had read about pregnancy hormones. How they might make her incredibly horny but she had laughed it off, sighted it as an excuse for pregnant woman to get more. She wasn't laughing about it anymore and her frustration tolerance for the situation had hit zero half an hour ago.

Heading to the bathroom she paused long enough to switch her Ipod on, not really caring or noticing what the music was as she stripped her way through the hall, her underwear falling to the floor as she sat on the edge of the tub and waited for the water to warm, adding bubbles because she felt like it.

The water was heaven. The suds creeping up her chest and covering her body as she sunk down up to her chin before propping herself up at the back of the tub, closing her eyes to the notes of a song she knew she should be able to recognize but really didn't have the clarity of mind to contemplate.

Slowly she slid her hand down her body, forgoing her breasts which had become increasingly tender, stopping between her legs for a moment, letting the anticipation build as she imagined it was Will who was going to be doing these things, his hand, not hers.

She let herself moan softly when she finally lowered her hand, so desperate for any kind of relief that she didn't care if she made noises for once.

* * *

><p><strong>Will's POV<strong>

The acoustic version of "Unchained Melody" from the West End musical Ghost was playing softly when he walked into the dimly lit house, a rented movie in hand because they hadn't really decided what to do tonight.

Stretching as he stepped past the couch he went to remove his vest when the sight of Emma's shirt lying crumpled on the floor stopped him. Slowly he lowered his arms, his eyes following a disorderly trail of her clothing to the bathroom, where he could see light illuminating a section of the carpet.

Smiling to himself he picked up the clothes marveling at how it was something that would probably have annoyed most husbands, but it meant so much more than clothes being left on the floor with her. It meant progress and besides, she usually never left them long.

He knocked softly on the door, intending to tease her when his eyes widened at what he was seeing.

She was in the tub, bubbles surrounding her but her knees were visible and angled in such a way that he knew her legs were spread. Her head was tilted back, resting against the side of the tub and her chest was rising and falling rapidly, her cheeks flushed in a way he knew all too well.

His pants felt tighter as he stepped into the bathroom to the sound of a dainty moan.

Her eyes were closed, she didn't know he was there yet and briefly he considered letting her continue. It was so rare that he got to see her like this and he so very much loved to see her doing what she was now.

"I think you misunderstood." He cleared his throat as her eyes snapped open, propelling him forward with their arousal. "When I said call me if you need anything I _definitely _meant this kind of anything.'

She said nothing as he dropped down next to the tub shamelessly staring at the breast the bubbles had shifted to reveal. He could tell she was close, the way she couldn't form words and her eyes were unfocused yet sharp with desire. Supporting himself with one hand he leaned over the edge, bringing his mouth to hers while dipping his other hand into the warm water, not caring that he was getting his sleeve wet because he didn't want to deny her one second. Gently he caressed her inner thigh before moving it to the place she had no doubt just been touching as he slid his tongue into her mouth.

It was an awkward angle for him, bent over the side of the tub but the way she was writhing in the water, suds and droplets sloshing out to trail over the edge, made it so much better. She broke away from his kiss, inhaling with a gasp and he took the liberty of having his face inches from hers to watch her as she came.

Her lips found his again after, and her hand came up behind his shoulders to brush through his hair.

"Hey," he pretended to scold against her cheek, flinching as the water soaked through the back of his shirt. "You ready to get out?" He asked gently, moving to stand and retrieve a towel.

"No," she sighed, looking for more exhausted than a post-orgasm haze generally called for and his heart went out to her. "Well, how about I go make us a snack then alright?" She nodded, her head falling to the side and he reminded himself to check back in a few minutes to make sure she hadn't fallen asleep.

Finding himself once again faced with the task of deciding what she might want to eat he opted for some of the honey and oats granola bars they had picked up along with the graham crackers they had opened the other night.

As he set them out on the plate he remembered that Emma had once told him something she had learned in a Human Sex class while getting her Bachelor's, that the food was originally invented to decrease the urge to masturbate in men by a Reverend Graham.

"I wonder if they made any for woman. Not that I really want to stop that particular urge in her." He mused first to himself and then to the dog that had appeared in the doorway when he had started speaking. "I think I like her like this and I think you are going to be sleeping on the couch more often bud, sorry." He paused, pursing his lips at Moritz, pretending to think. "You know what? The couch is comfy, you'll be fine and I'm not sorry. Definitely not sorry."

As he waited for Emma, deciding to give her the five more minutes she so often pleaded for in the mornings, he thought about the other night.

Her waking him up because she was uncomfortable getting something to eat at that time was both unsettling and comforting. As he had watched the water boiling, listening to her talking about the things she had ate, blanching at the thought of uncooked noodles, it had hit him that there were a lot of things he still didn't know about the disorder he had seen so much of. It hurt to hear her speak that way but he hoped that she would continue to reveal things.

She had promised that she would eat when she felt hungry and he felt safe in her promise because she wasn't the terrified, controlled woman he had met so long ago. She was independent and strong and confident.

They had discussed her late night bouts of hunger yet that night deciding that maybe a late snack would be the best way to go. He had a feeling she would still eat even if he didn't but he had never been one to turn down food, perhaps one of the reasons it had taken him so long to truly grasp the eating disorder that had enveloped her.

She smiled shyly as she slipped into the kitchen, wearing one of his t-shirts and he was transfixed by how radiant she seemed, how naturally beautiful she was in the dim lighting even though her hair was wet around her shoulders and his shirt took away any semblance of shape from her body.

Fixing her with his own sly grin he motioned to the table. "For your _pleasure, _my dear." He whispered seductively, coming up behind her, wrapping his arms her and burying his nose in her hair. "You smell like sun-ripened strawberries." He commented before stepping away to let her sit down, glad that she had used the shampoo he had gone back to buy because it had reminded him so much of her.

He could tell by the look in her eyes as she seemed to devour him as much as the food from her place across the table that Moritz was going to be sleeping on the couch tonight, and he wasn't sorry, not really.

* * *

><p>AN: That weather in Lima, crazy stuff...almost as bad as here...

A huge HUGE, beyond grateful thank you to both epicwemma and classicbookworm who have so kindly provided me with tips on writing pregnant Emma. Having never been, it was getting a little overhwelming trying to sort out info on the internet. That being said, if you notice any glaring mistakes in her pregnancy (yes I know it usually takes nine months :) ) please don't tell me...unless they are really bad! Ignorance is bliss and I love bliss.

I hope you enjoyed hormonal Emma. I should have doubled checked my messages to see when they said that kicked in but I wanted to write it and figured you guys wouldn't mind:P


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: A bit shorter but I don't think you will mind:D

Trying to figure out what symptoms correlated with what stage in pregnancy was giving me a headache so I'm purposefully a bit vague. I apologize if that detracts from the writing for anyone but it was necessary for what's left of the author's sanity.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seven<strong>

**Will's POV**

He sighed quietly from his unannounced position at their bedroom door when she hurtled another pair of pants to the ground. She was ten weeks along and although he could detect a very discrete thickening of her waist, from what he had read she was probably more than feeling it. When he combined that with how sensitive she had become to that portion of her body from the eating disorder he could only imagine what must be going through her mind.

As he watched her standing in front of the mirror, worrying her bottom lip, hands occasionally sliding across her belly only to fall to her sides in defeat before she tried on another piece of clothing, he realized he didn't have to imagine, that he already knew.

Wordlessly he stepped into the room, heading directly for the closet where he rifled around for a low-waisted skirt he had seen her wear a couple of times. It was a light purple, with a slightly darkened floral pattern littered across the flowing material. She didn't require maternity clothes yet but he knew what she was trying on was never going to work. For some women, for most, they would have accepted the tightness as unavoidable and moved on. She wasn't most women and he needed to do something before they ended up late for their first appointment.

That was probably the reason this was affecting her more today. He knew she was nervous about going. He was antsy about it, and he wasn't the one the appointment was for.

She was regarding him with tired eyes when he turned around, skirt in hand. "Here," he said with a smile, handing her the skirt, "it will sit low."

"I feel huge." Emma grumbled, carefully avoiding the word that had become somewhat taboo in their lives.

"Em, no one can tell when you have clothes on. I can barely tell when you have clothes off." He reassured her, dropping a kiss on her cheek before she started to pull the skirt on.

She was still struggling with accepting the pregnancy. She wasn't adverse to it, it was just so surreal, for both of them, that her feelings about her changing body were overriding everything else. In a rush she stepped away, bending over to grab at a white button-down blouse she had discarded earlier, quickly doing the buttons before she gave up on that as well and her forehead crashed into his chest.

"Even my breasts are huge." She whined, her voice muffled against his shirt.

"That's a conflict of interest," he spoke gently, rotating her by her shoulders so that she was facing her reflection as he began to undo just enough of the buttons that the swell of her breasts was visible, "because I think this, "he motioned to her chest, careful not to touch the part of her that had become so tender, "is one of the best parts."

"One of the best parts?" She rotated to facing him, waiting.

"The other part may or may not have something to do with you wanting to jump me every time I turn around." He smirked as he leaned in for a kiss, remembering how she had effortlessly convinced him that Spanish papers weren't really all that important, again. His students were never going to get their grades back.

Carefully he moved them backwards, sitting down on the edge of the bed with her on his lap, his head resting against her back while she redid what he had just undone. He wrapped his arms her waist, the gesture having grown almost protective in the last couple weeks, and sighed against her.

"When it sinks in this will get easier." He commented, lowering one hand to rest on her thigh, tracing a flower with his index finger and she relaxed against him while the mahogany clock on the opposite wall ticked delicately through their thoughts.

* * *

><p>This waiting room was different from the others. It appeared as though a tornado had swept through covering the light grey carpet in toys for varying ages. In reality that tornado probably had a name, and whatever her name was she was adorable. Shoulder-length brown curls that bounced right along with her as she skipped in and out of the couples, earning smiles wherever she went.<p>

She held the room within that smile and Will imagined that she could rip a one hundred dollar bill in half and smother the anger with innocent eyes and a protruding lip.

For the moment the girl was resting, sitting next to her father, curled up in the drab chair, peering over his shoulder, her tiny hand rubbing at her chin as though she was questioning as the man next to her appeared to be doing. Every time the door to the back offices would open her head would whip around, hair twirling about behind her, mouth open slightly while restless energy overtook her features ensuring she had to work to sit still. Her face would fall just as quickly and Will would grin to himself, at her excitement, that unlike an adult's, was unfettered by disappointment, and resurfaced just as strong the next time the door opened.

"Mommy!" She shrieked, and he realized that he wasn't the only one who had been watching when the room erupted into a quiet chuckle as she bounded over to a heavily pregnant woman wearing sweats and a sleepy smile as she ran her fingers through her daughter's hair.

"Brother did you like the doctor?" She questioned loudly, with the insistence only a child can muster, her lips inches away from her mother's rounded stomach.

Will glanced away when the girl's small hands reached out and pushed her mother's shirt up high on her stomach, and it was obvious from the girl's practiced motions that this was something she did often. It was also obvious from the mother's flushed cheeks that it was something that was supposed to be done at home.

His eyes landed on his wife, one hand over her middle that seemed so tiny compared to the one he had just seen. She was riveted on the mother, now nervously straightening her blouse and good-naturedly asking her daughter to wait until she got home to see her brother. Emma wasn't smiling like the rest of the women in the room. Her eyes were wide, her mouth parted and he could tell she was a million and one miles away.

More than anything he wanted to ask what she was thinking but it wouldn't have been appropriate, and he had a few ideas on the matter anyways. He smiled at the family as they headed out the door, the little girl waving enthusiastically, the mother pausing to knit her eyebrows at Emma, still staring.

"My mother's brother is in the hospital. I guess he has been for three months." Will began, cringing at his topic choice but it was something he had just found out through a care worker at the nursing home.

Horrible transition or not he accomplished his goal and Emma snapped out of her reverie, turning to look at him, waiting for more information.

"He had a stroke and there's brain damage." He watched as her face pulled into a frown, probably reciting things she had learned about brain damage and strokes in college. "They say he looks like what you would expect after lying in a bed for three months."

"Weight gain." She said with an almost eerie resolute finality, her lips barely moving around the words.

And there it was. The gap in her logic left by the eating disorder that he wondered if she would ever find a bridge for.

"Weight loss." He corrected softly, noticing her expression change as the error in her thinking dawned on her.

* * *

><p><strong>Emma's POV<strong>

The gel, cool against her skin, surprised her despite the nurse's cheerful warning and the countless times she had seen a scene such as this play out in movies. Will's hand was resting in hers, an unspoken comfort that she was glad to have at her side.

A grainy image appeared on the monitor and she waited for the woman to point out what was and what was not their child. It was Will's intake of breath and the loving kiss he placed on the back of her hand that he forgot to lower from his mouth that brought tears to her eyes, that made it more real than the grey blob she was staring at.

It was hearing the heartbeat, so rapid compared with her own that gave her that moment, his breath spilling out against her skin and when she turned her head, he was smiling with more emotion than she had ever seen.

"Emma, that's our baby." He whispered through his admiration finally lowering her hand but not letting it go.

Suddenly the frustration that had gripped her this morning, worsening with every piece of clothing she had tried on, was gone. He was right. She wasn't fat. She was pregnant and there was a difference. Even though the sensation of her waist pressing into her pants reminded her of the panic-induced body checks in the mirror that had dominated her days, she wasn't that woman anymore.

She was going to be a mother.

Will was going to be a father.

They were going to be a family.

* * *

><p><strong>Will's POV<strong>

Her morning sickness gradually lessened and when she started her second trimester and she could finally keep most of her food down. They had talked about that once, about how surreal it was to be throwing up after eating, not by choice, but because her body felt it necessary. Between that and a seemingly never-ending need to pee, she was never very far from a restroom.

* * *

><p>Eventually, her body becoming used to the changes it was undergoing, the fatigue melted away. He no longer had to virtually pick her up to get her out of bed and then there had been the time she had fallen asleep at the dinner table, hand resting loosely over the fork. He had a picture of that somewhere.<p>

* * *

><p>They had been out with the dog, lazing in the park on a Saturday afternoon when she brought up the subject of names. They had briefly flirted with the topic before they had decided they would just wait to learn the gender. She had given him the choice on that which still surprised him. He would have assumed that someone with Emma's personality would have wanted every detail, including gender, pegged down at the first possible second that it could be. But she hadn't wanted to know, if he hadn't.<p>

The day he found out he was going to have a daughter, when he had finally found the strength to get up out of the chair he had collapsed into, tears of happiness he hadn't been expecting sliding down his cheeks, was officially, the best day of his life.

Later that week they decided on a name. Megan Rose.

* * *

><p>They were at a mandatory staff meeting, mindlessly watching Figgins attempt to prattle his way through a pie chart that was clearly beyond his cognitive reach when he heard Emma's sharp inhale and her hand closed tightly around his underneath the table, placing it delicately on her stomach.<p>

He could still remember that, head bowed to hide the grin as he felt a kick. For the rest of the meeting that was where his hand stayed. And he still had absolutely no idea what the point of that pie chart had been.

* * *

><p>The first time he found her actually crying over her body was after a trip to the store, mere weeks before she had started wearing maternity clothes, and the cashier had politely inquired if she thought a small would be large enough. That had been a rough night, with Emma ranting about how she felt like a whale and that she had been for a while but had been afraid to say it because, once upon a time, she had talked that way on a regular basis. He had assured her, with tender kisses and caring touches interspersed with carefully chosen words that she had every right to feel how she was and that she should never hesitate to speak her mind to him.<p>

* * *

><p>His first trip to the store late at night was for grape jelly. She had turned down everything in the house, her mind set on a salami and jelly sandwich which sounded disgusting to him, but she had loved it. And it was a cherished memory of his, watching her sway her hips in time with the jazz playing across the speakers in the living room as she smeared absurd amounts of jelly onto two slices of bread. There had been a time when he would have gone to the ends of the earth to find her something she would eat. He realized then, when she took the first bite with a contented smile that he still would.<p>

* * *

><p>He played music to her stomach, a variety including show tunes, jazz, classical, and of course a standard dose of Singing in the Rain. He had read that infants exposed to music in the womb in the last three months of gestation, when tested a year later, showed a preference for the music they had heard inside their mother. It didn't mean that this dictated what musical style the infant would prefer later in life, but it did help determine what factors in songs might influence them.<p>

Of course, much of what a child learned to like in music came from exposure after birth. He could see it now, Emma and him squabbling over what style of music Megan should listen to, sticking their tongues out at each other when she was old enough to choose one over the other, rolling their eyes when she chose neither.

He hoped she loved music. He hoped she _breathed _music.

* * *

><p>He realized how different things were with Emma as compared to Terri right from the start. Terri had complained about being on her feet four hours a day. He often had to remind Emma that it was perfectly fine to not get everything done and that some evenings, it was just as enjoyable to soak in a warm bath as it was to read baby books and diligently take notes.<p>

Oh, the notes.

They had entire binders labeled by topic and age of development, with high-lighted sections, all of which he found endearing if not exhausting. He had barely made it through one book. She was on her sixth. She was better than Wikipedia.

* * *

><p>Terri had taken every opportunity to turn a situation against him, cutting him down as a man or father-figure. Emma was supportive, and she showed it. He didn't realize it would mean so much, her saying over the sounds of his playing a standard blues scale on the piano, that he would be a great father.<p>

It hit him a little bit more every day. That that's what he was going to be.

* * *

><p>Sometimes, as they made love or he caught sight of her undressing he simply had to stop and stare. At her. At her stomach. At their future.<p>

* * *

><p>She was relaxed, dancing around the coffee table in between dusting pieces of furniture and unlike the zeroed in precision indicative of a compulsion she often paused mid-swipe to sing a few bars of some country song he had never heard of. Every Sunday he had to put up with her listening to the top 30 countdown but it was worth it to catch glimpses of her like this.<p>

Returning his attention to his pile of papers, the Spanish ones that he was attempting to grade for the third time in as many weeks, he sighed and reached for the Spanish Dictionary to his left. After so long of reading their spelling, he began to question his own.

Vaguely he registered the song changing in the background, Emma's surprised laughter floating through the air but he didn't look up, determined to get this done, tonight.

He definitely wasn't complaining that he hadn't gotten them done. To him, a pregnant, hormonal wife should be an acceptable excuse for any homework not getting graded in a timely manner. Someday, he was sure, his students were going to look back on this and realize why their teacher was no longer getting things back the next day. Probably when they were husbands in his position, or wives in Emma's and he was glad he wouldn't be around for that revelation.

The other night while he had been making decent progress she had quietly sat down across from him, staring intently until he had finally glanced up only to find her hand dipping between her legs, underneath an oversized t-shirt that had clearly been the only thing she had been wearing. Two more dismal papers made it to the 'graded' pile before she gasped softly and he decided the students weren't really making that much of an effort therefore, he should be allowed to shirk off teacherly responsibilities, especially when his wife was touching herself not five feet away.

Emma's arms appeared around his neck, her breath hot against his ear as she sang along with the radio. Her hands flattened against his t-shirt, sliding across his chest until they rested on his shoulders.

"Em, I really, really need to get these handed back." He stressed, scooting his chair forward in an attempt to remove himself from her tempting caresses.

She didn't listen, nibbling at his ear lobe and moving her hands so that they were underneath his shirt, her fingertips blazing a trail of fire across his skin. Briefly he closed his eyes, attempting to will away the arousal that was starting to make his pants uncomfortable. "Emma…" He began, cut off by more lyrics that quickly caught his attention.

"The first time, we did it." Emma sang softly under her breath, her tone seductive, breathy, higher than the male lead she was singing over. "I was scared to death. She snuck out in that cotton dress, jumped on in and we drove out to the lake. Put her hand on my knee and said 'I just can't wait.' I had everything I needed in the bed of my truck, turns out my baby loves to," Emma paused for a beat, bringing her lips directly against his ear, and while whoever the guy was who was doing the song sang 'fish' she sang what every person listening to the lyrics was expecting.

And right then and there he knew those papers weren't getting handed back tomorrow.

Without thinking he stood up, turning and capturing her lips in a searing kiss before breaking away, one hand resting lightly on her swollen belly. "Say it again." He whispered against her cheek, his voice thick with arousal because she _never _talked like that and it was selfish to ask but he didn't care. "Say it again and maybe I will." He spoke low and dangerous and he gave into the urge to nip softly at her ear.

"Fuck me." She whispered so gently he almost didn't catch it while his hands began pushing her sweat pants down while hers found the zipper on his jeans.

"Gotta be louder than that." He taunted, enjoying the moment, gasping when her hand flattened against his crotch.

"Fuck me Will." She repeated, accenting each word and he smiled as images of doing just that formed in his head.

He had never done what he was about to, always too afraid of coming off as disrespectful or vulgar, but he wanted her. Now.

Gently he cupped her cheek before he commanded softly. "Get on your hands and knees." She didn't question him, dropping to the ground almost instantly and he practically fell to his knees behind her, reaching out to pull her underwear down in one quick motion, running his hands across her bare skin.

Swiftly he undid his pants the rest of the way, pushing them down just far enough because he didn't have the patience to take them all the way off, pausing only long enough to make sure she was ready before sliding into her.

"God, you feel so good, so hot." He mumbled as he increased his pace, spurred on by the sounds she was making, contented whimpers and one command that left his mind reeling.

Oh he could _definitely_ fuck her harder.

It was quick, messy, frenzied and they hadn't even taken the time to undress but as he laid beside her on the living room floor, clothes still half off, chest heaving, he knew it was going to be one of his favorite memories.

"Will," Emma drew out his name, "make me come." She whispered against his ear, grabbing one of his hands and sliding it between her legs.

"I just did." He teased, loving how the pregnancy was affecting her sex drive. It was becoming something of a standard, her coming more than once.

"Again." She whined and the desperate tone in her voice was all took to have him trailing kisses down her body, pausing at her stomach, so very definitely pregnant.

He slowed things down, smoothing over the stretch marks he had caught her crying over one day with his tongue before continuing to his destination, hands on her hips, mouth between her legs, and God he loved doing this to her. Softly he alternated patterns with his tongue until her hands found their way into his hair and she pressed his face downwards, demanding more as she moaned his name.

As she came for the second time, her thighs tight against the sides of his face, he mentally thanked hormones. While her body relaxed against him he moved to the side and simply placed his hand over her belly, fascinated by the way it had to curve to encompass the part of her that had previously been flat. He knew she was growing anxious about the weight gain but she was still eating well, better than she had before actually, and he admired her so much for that. More than he knew how to articulate.

"I love you." He murmured, remembering the ungraded papers resting on the table with a groan. "I love you, and I love you like this especially but I really have to grade those papers."

With much effort he forced his body off the ground turning to help Emma up only to find her head turned to the side, a hand where his had been on her stomach, and her mouth parted slightly as she slept. He really wanted to take a picture of that, his pregnant wife in a state of half-dress from hormone-induced lust, asleep on the living room floor, but the fear if it somehow getting out of their hands prevented it.

Instead he shook his head, chuckled and headed to the bathroom for a warm wash cloth, taking his time with her before he resigned himself to dreadful spelling, poorly constructed sentences, and the random note from one of his Glee students about a song they thought of while in class.

Forty-some papers and unknown hours later she was still where he had left her, now rolled over onto her side. Regretfully he woke her up, making sure she didn't stumble on the way to the bedroom and tucked her into bed, sliding in behind her to wrap his arm around her waist.

That was when he remembered it.

The night he had spent with her the way he was now, his arm over her stomach swollen with food after a binge, and the thoughts he had been unable to stop about how her stomach being swollen for an entirely different reason.

He was grateful that she was asleep when he gently lifted her shirt up and kissed her belly because a tear found its way from his cheek to her skin, and he let this new memory, of them right now, replace the old one.

* * *

><p>AN: I hope you enjoyed this as much as I've enjoyed depicting pregnant Emma.

I'm starting a new job on wednesday and then classes the following week. I'm going to be extraordinarily busy and my updates may become more sporadic (I will try not to let this happen) and occasionally shorter but I will not, I _will not_ abandon this story. Please have patience, it's so greatly appreciated.

As always, thank you from the bottom of my heart for your continued loyalty and fantastic reviews! They make me want to write!


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